


93% Stardust

by CharlieMcarthy



Series: Resonance Timeline (TF Fics) [1]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Found Family, M/M, at least for TF series, barn husbands, but barn husbands???, im just making this up as i go along, ive written so much crap for TF but never dared post it bc it sucks, long time writer first time poster, one shots, snap shots, they sort of string together but not really???, which is not new, yeager project
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2020-03-08 23:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18905065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieMcarthy/pseuds/CharlieMcarthy
Summary: A collection of TF post!TLK snap shots. Optimus Prime and Cade Yeager try to find a sense of normalcy after the England incident. It is a strange, new existence, but it is one they live together. Set in Resonance timeline.





	1. Back to Basics

**Author's Note:**

> Jesus, trying to set the stage for the shit show that was the end of TLK. Unicron who, btw? I really just wanna write autobots and their dumb humans friends doing their best. This is def not my best work but whoopsie-doodle, this bitch is posting anyways. These are all written when I have time to write so...between 11pm and 2am. >>;

_"Be it ever so humble..."_

**1\. Back to Basics**

 

Cade Yeager is tired.

Correction; he is _ bone-deep, winter-bare drag out down  _ exhausted as  _ fuck _ .

The sun is rising very calmly, as if the world didn’t nearly end two weeks ago. They are no longer halfway across the world but back in the US, camped out on the ruins of his property he hasn’t seen in almost two years. Two...had it been that long? But even now, laying here curled up in the semi’s long seat, he knows better than to check his mental calendar. 

Cybertron--or what little remained of the shell of a planet--withdrew from Earth’s crust and vanished far into the black, unknown of space. 

The autobots had stayed behind, watching it the way someone watches a body be lowered into the cold earth. 

Cade, knowing nothing else to do other than  **be there** for his team as they had been there for him, immediately promised the autobots his property for safety and a home base. NEST was being put back into place, but Optimus had called his current team back to Texas, and ignored the government soundly and angrily. Cade knew it was a matter of time until Lennox reached out to him, but so far the government seemed to be taking a surprisingly smart hands-off policy. Optimus and the autobots were no longer being hunted like criminals, but they also weren’t been dragged into politics just yet. 

Everyone could breathe, at least for a little while. 

The barn was in shambles, doors gone and inside withered away. Countless projects have turned to rust piles and useless, dead dreams after being exposed to the elements for so long. Not even Cade could find much treasure left to salvage in the junk this time, and it was depressing as it was strangely freeing. (After all, being the team medic was a full time job, and Cade had new ideas he wanted to try as soon as he had his lab back.) The house that belonged to Emily’s great-grandparents, the gorgeous farmhouse and the equally old oak tree are sad and pathetic. Only one half of the oak tree remains, stubbornly standing and refusing to give in. Funny, only the man made things are scrap material now, what little hasn’t fallen back into the soil. 

But that tree, and Cade’s team, are alive and back and moderately well. 

It’s the same, stubborn oak tree that Optimus Prime is sitting under this early morning, his chosen spot where he has an unobstructed view of the back pastures, the east pasture, and the driveway that wanders back toward the road. 

Cade inches up for a moment, peeking to see where exactly the sun is. He winces at its light, but sinks back down to hide from its annoying rays and ignores the throaty grumbles and chuffs he hears near the barn’s skeleton. One plus to bringing the dinobots home, they were more than willing to take extra scrap metal off Cade’s hands. 

Another week of Grimlock’s ‘case of the munchies’ and the barn would be cleaned out in no time. 

Bee’s engine is somewhere far off, but sounds sluggish and distinctly grouchy. It’s a subtle change in pitch Cade only knows because he has lived for months in close quarters with the autobots that make up his team. (There’s not a ton of room for personal space in a junkyard, even less space when nearly everyone is over 10 feet tall.)

Well, maybe not  _ his  _ team anymore, technically. But he’s still the medic, at least.

Bee isn’t an early riser, and neither is he. Cade settles more comfortably, curling up against Prime’s upholstery to save some warmth from his sleep. A blanket. He needs to buy a blanket, and a pillow. 

And a house. He needs a house, too at some point. The bones of the old farmhouse stand brittle and confused looking, as if it been ripped apart and then left to rot like a mortally wounded animal. 

Beneath Prime’s frame, the earth does a _ not _ - _ quite  _ tremble, and even eyes closed and around the sound of the radio Cade knows Hound is in root mode and walking across the property. If he concentrates very hard, (a challenge this early, with no coffee to help him focus) he thinks Drift might be somewhere on the north, his copter sending soft pulses across the earth below him. If Bee was here than he wasn’t trying to race the triple changer, and if cursing wasn’t heard in both English and Cybertronian than Crosshairs was off in the woods, minding his own and probably just studying the local flora. To anyone else, the acute awareness of being surrounded by the powerful, god-like figures known as Transformers might be the stuff of nightmares. For Cade, these are the sounds of his home, his family. 

Hearing the radio flick off pointedly, Cade makes a small, protesting noise and burrows deeper into the warm fabric of the semi. 

A roll of far off thunder--oh, no, Prime was chuckling. At him. The nerve. 

“Ten more minutes.” 

“Cade--”

“Five. Twenty? Please?” 

It’s no use, and Cade bleakly accepts that. Besides, if he keeps talking soon the minis will hear him, and then it's only a matter of time before they’ll be crying and whining outside by Prime’s tires for his attention. Damn kids. 

But god, Cade can’t imagine his life without any of them now. Especially not the autobot he was currently using as a bed every night. 

So Yeager sits up, pausing only to shove his feet into his boots and then drop out of Prime’s warm cab into the early dawn, rubbing his face sleepily. 

“Mornin’, Cade.” Hound calls, and Cade throws an arm up in a sloppy wave as he stands and stretches aching joints. 

Behind him, the distinct and metallic sound of an autobot unfolding from alt mode is heard, but Cade instead focuses on the tiny, tumbling pile of steel and spikes that is now rolling or flapping toward him. 

“Hi guys,” for them, he can smile. Plus, the minis were pretty cute. “Yes, good morning, did we get breakfast? Did Grim share? Yeah?” 

The man crouches down despite his body creaking, and lets his hands be fair game to nudging and nibbles and pouncing lessons. Each mini makes a good attempt at cramming themselves all at once against his  palms, with the exception of Pterry, who flapped clumsily up onto Cade’s shoulder. 

“You guys miss Izzy, huh...” The sharp trills and answering squawks was response enough. “Well, when we get a home built and have a guest room I’m sure Viv will let her visit. And Tess is gunna love you guys too, believe me. Gunna spoil you all rotten.” 

“Compared to what you let them get away with  _ now _ ?” Optimus rumbled over his shoulder, earning a snort from Cade. 

“Hey, don’t judge. The minis are cute as hell.”

The dawn light is slow and gentle, and Cade wanders the property by memory more than by sight. He has no fear of being stepped on, and he knows where Optimus is. He’s safe, and Prime is a constant comforting mountain in his horizon lately. A sleek camaro trundles up behind him, engines rolling and audio playing a recording of a cartoonish sounding yawn. 

“I’ll be there in a minute, Bee.” Cade answers, grumbling about impatient scouts as he roots around the hastily pitched tent for his jacket. Joyce had several voice mails in his inbox from Cade regarding rebuilding his home, since KSI certainly owed him that and more. But until then this was Cade’s current state of affairs. Optimus had taken one look at the man’s bed roll and informed he was welcome to spend the night in his cab. Cade hadn’t needed to be asked a second time. 

By now, Bumblebee had followed him over and was now playing the  _ Jeopardy! _ Theme at an obscene volume for how early it was. 

“Alright, alright! Keep your axles on!”

Yeager crawled back out, patted himself down for his wallet and headed for the open driver door. 

“Good morning to you too, Mr. Bossy.” Cade hums as he settles in. 

Bumblebee gives a responding burst of auto-tuned synthwave music, a laugh in retort to the man’s teasing title and simply throws himself into reverse and then forward, angling for the driveway. 

This is the routine, every morning, since returning to the Yeager homestead. And though Cade is exhausted down to the marrow in his bones, in about twenty minutes he’ll have a coffee, and an egg sandwich, and if he’s feeling adventurous maybe a doughnut. Then its back to the property to work on salvaging what he could and removing what he couldn’t. It was hard, tiring work in middle of a Texan summer, but it needed to be done and Cade certainly had no shortage of teammates willing to lend him a servo or bit of muscle. If no one reported a new autobot to search for, and if no autobot came to them, then the day was theirs to do as they pleased. 

Yes, Cade Yeager is tired, but he’s far from alone. And that is what makes all the difference. 


	2. A Gleam in the Distance

_"Who knows what the future holds?"_

**2\. A Gleam in the Distance**

Alone is a foreign concept to Cade, yet his company is decidedly not human much these days.

He’s alright with this. Truthfully, Cade has been feeling far more at home among the shelter of autobots and the occasional switched-sides Decepticon for close on to two years by now.

Transformers are living metal beings, sentient and sharp and occasionally emotion-driven. They can be as reckless as his own kind; Bumblebee certainly is, though Cade wasn’t sure that was the best comparison. (Bee had spent a long time around humans, so who's to say he wasn’t merely emulating _them_?) But Transformers feel and love and live and die just as any other creature carrying a soul, and Cade takes indescribable comfort and safety among their ranks.

It helps they treat him as any autobot medic, and it also helps that his guardian autobot just happens to be _Optimus freaking Prime._

For sure Cade loves Bumblebee, the way a best friend loves another. They were close and Cade trusted Bee with his life, no matter what Drift or Crosshairs tried insinuating. But Optimus Prime was the first transformer Cade ever met. And even battle-torn and venomous, Prime had displayed more startling, deep seated emotion than Cade had seen in years. He and Prime had a strange, budding connection that resonated between them so strongly Cade wondered how he had lived without it. He and Prime were nothing alike and yet perfectly matched, their understanding singing between the two of them so that every autobot seemed to notice it. He looked back at his past and realized he would love Optimus like this even if Emily was still around. Hell, Emily herself would have loved the big old bot. She would have loved how serious and stoic he was, how infinitely gentle and attentive he got when he sensed Cade needed him.

Yes, Cade loves his entire team. Hound is the fun-uncle, and he doesn’t mind that the ‘munitions bot that lets Tessa get away with murder, so long as her life doesn’t turn _out_ like the fun uncle’s. Crosshairs has only gotten more and more interested in the Texan wilderness, and Cade has heard rumor of the bot wanting to try his hand at ‘gardening’ when he isn’t on patrols or missions. Drift spends most of his time meditating and planning the garage layouts, though Cade warned Drift more than once to keep it fair. The barn was now back up, mostly, it’s last standing wall reinforced by a stubborn inventor and his loyal gang of alien autonomous lifeforms. All that’s left is the doors, but it’s providing far more shelter and safety than the still battered and dead farmhouse. That, too, was in repair, but slow going. Tessa was still at school and they had time. And Cade spent most nights sleeping in Prime’s cab or the little cot in the barn.

It’s been fun, too. The projects haven’t been without hitches and bumps, (Strafe has _finally_ learned that the current ramshackle buildings cannot hold his weight, no more than Grimlock can sleep in the barn because _that_ is Optimus’ territory.)

Even as his life seemed to winding down and finding a foothold, every day was still interesting.

Most things were when the autobots were around.

“Look, the damn thing can’t go there, I say put it _here_ ,” Cross crouches and sloppily moves a beer bottle across the dirt. This is apparently the med bay, which is a humorous stand in if anyone asks the human

“And ruin the feng shui of the layout? Stupid bot, everyone will be off balance and there will be no rest.” Drift scolds, pushing the med bay back between the barn so that it’s directly behind it but not too close to Bee’s garage, which is a sad little stick.

“We ain’t gettin rest now _anyway_! We’re all sleepin outside like the fucken dinobots!” Crosshairs explodes immediately, flinging some of the rocks off their brothers and completely undoing Drift’s thoughtful floor plan of what apparently was a rec room, or upon closer inspection, a bonsai garden maybe?

“Listen, I dunno what the frag’s a fe-ung shoe is, but ain’t nobody puttin me down wind of hot head here.” Hound objects calmly, as the littlest bot rolls his optics skyward and pushes his servos away from himself and wanders off.

_“I’m so tired of you guys--kssrt--wake me when its over--”_

Cade watches with equal amusement and exasperation as the team argues, yet again, about the future footprint of their property. He rests his elbow against an audial horn, staring down at everyone as Prime shifted boredly from ped to ped. Cade used to climb evergreens as a kid. Right here, sitting perched upon the Prime’s shoulder as he moved brought the same sensation of gently swaying, yet being totally safe.

“You’d think 60 some acres would be enough for these guys huh Prime?” And there was talk of Joyce buying them more land, since the one neighbor Cade had was looking into moving. The old codger was nearly 3 miles away but not everyone was warming back up to the Transformers as quickly as the Yeager family. Their loss.

Prime’s intelligent optics alight on Cade for a moment, and the commander hums a single note of agreement that sounds like a fire truck coming to a halt. Apparently this little meeting has gone on long enough for the Prime, because he shifts from his relaxed posture suddenly and approaches his team with his usual firm stride.

“Autobots.” Prime speaks at a far lower and calmler level than half the compound’s residents, and yet everyone halts and turns to stare at the leader when he does so. “Joyce and his team will be here in less than a week. Choose your garage placement on the property, mark it out and settle your differences quickly. We need to turn our focus outward as soon as our base is finished. There are plenty autobots out there who will require shelter and healing, and are **not** as fortunate as us.”

At this, everyone looks properly chastised, though Optimus didn’t word anything rudely. 

“Of course, sensei.”

“Alright, alright.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Bumblebee gives a thumbs up to indicate he heard.

Satisfied, Prime turns and leaves the conversation, taking Cade with him automatically.

“Missing space yet, ‘cowboy’?” Cade teases affectionately, smile blossoming wider when he earns a chuckle from the normally quiet commander.

“Not...in so many words.” Optimus eyes his usual resting patch near the old oak tree.

“Peace and quiet, then, is what you miss.”

At this, Optimus gives him a knowing, small smile. It’s a rare thing, but it creeps up into his optics and makes them flash like pretty little azure beads. Cade watches them, though, and soon they darken back to their calm, collected cobalt tint. He realizes Optimus has turned to study him back as much as Cade is doing to him now.

“Were I alone, I would not have _you_ with me, Cade. There are far worse things I would endure for you, aside from my autobots squabbling over garage placement.” And that aside, Prime sounds far too fond when he speaks about his team.

“Awh. I’m flattered, mac. I’d go through hell to stick with you, too.” Cade considers the property, the ashen ground beneath his friend’s feet. “Kinda already have, in fact…”

“I am sorry for the damage done to your home, my friend. It is not easy, losing pieces of your past, or the safety of your home.”

“Maybe not, but...I’m not the one who lost a whole _freaking planet_ , big rig.” Cade presses closer, suddenly driven to comfort the gloomy sounding bot. “So don’t worry about me. I’d lose it again if it meant keeping all you guys.”

Which is true, and Cade knows he doesn’t have to repeat himself for Optimus to understand him. Cade bears his soul a little bit more each day, sometimes in the dark of the barn when he can’t sleep, sometimes like right now, sitting on his friend’s shoulder while their family bickers off in the background. The autobots have become his _family_ , they have treated him and his daughter with love and affection, have welcomed him in their midst for so long Cade bears no desire to go back to the way things were. It’s comforting. It’s familiar.

Admittedly, it’s _not_ a normal situation for a human, but it belongs to Cade and to Optimus, because what they have they share together, and he wouldn’t trade it for all the world.

“The earth around the barn and your home seem to be ready, but much of the pastures are still thick and wild.” Optimus remarks, turning to eye the situation. “Perhaps we should begin clearing, to save time.”

Cade listens, nodding along. He decides not to call a spade a spade, because what Optimus was really after was clear. The less time Joyce and his team of copycat transformer makers spent in Prime’s space, the better. Cade was inclined to agree, and he wasn’t even the one whose genome was threatened by stupid humans who didn’t know when to quit. Cade doesn’t expect Joyce to be up to any of his old tricks, not after the England incident surely, but he understands Prime’s deep seated irritation at the man and his desire to protect his remaining team.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. It’ll go a lot faster, too if...where the hell did he get too?” Cade groans, sliding down Prime’s lowered arm and landing in the overgrown grass. “If he’s chasing cars again I’m gunna tie him to the tree…”

Optimus snorts above him, but steps back and lets the man handle the current situation.

“Grimlock? Hey!” The leader dinobot’s square muzzle peeks out from behind the barn, and Grim pauses to toss back an apparently choice hunk of steel that drops down his gullet with a screech. But this action has already distracted the behemoth, and he snorts questioningly as he searches for Cade.

Cade whistles, and waves his hand up above his head, because sometimes Grimlock saw far better than he heard. The great big dinobot is locked onto him in no time and ambles obediently over, growling lowly. It’s a noise that should send any smart person fleeing in absolute terror, but Cade knows this is just Grimlock’s noise for _‘Yeah_?’

“I gotta job for you, Grim. You take Slag and go start levelling anything higher than me, awright? Grimlock--wait, look at me. Do **not** use fire until we’re ready. Okay? We don’t need to burn down the whole joint, just the shit in our way.”

Grimlock seems to understand the instructions, because he swings his wedge head over his spine and roars, loud and bellowing. Slug answers from across the pasture that the barn is sitting in front, and begins shuffling toward the area Grim is apparently directing him too.

The land clearing won’t take the dinobots long, and soon shelter for his family will stand where overbrush and dead earth sit now. It’s a comforting, hopeful thought that Cade carries with him the rest of the day.

Things were finally looking up.

It’s only half a day later that the Universe, in her infinite mercy and corner-smile plannings, drops a strange interloper at their doorstep. Well, by strange it is a battered shuttle named Skyfire, and the doorstep is actually four feet from the barn’s recently erected doors. Still, he lands, leaving a crater behind and news of other autobots out there in the world.

He’s allowed to stay, because of course he is. Cade is relieved when the big, friendly shuttle simply takes the space he is given and doesn’t complain.

Cade Yeager and Optimus Prime will save everyone single one they can, no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More bots (and cons) will show up eventually, but this will stay centered on Yeager and Prime. Hopefully I can start posting Resonance soon bc THAT fucker is much bigger and actuall somewhat spellchecked.


	3. But If You Close Your Eyes

_"Does it almost feel like,_  
_Nothing changed at all?" -Bastille  
_

**3\. But If You Close Your Eyes**

Not every moment is golden and honeyed.

Some moments are still scary. Some moments bring him quite close to danger and remind Cade Yeager that he is mere flesh and bone and so, so, terribly small in the grand scheme of things.

Concerning the affairs of Transformers, correct that to Very and Far Too Small.

He launches himself downward and behind a broken section of wall, using the shelter to shield himself as his eyes search the sky desperately. He thought he heard--Yes. _There_ \--Drift isn’t lightning-fast as a copter but Strafe is, and the dinobot is falling from the sky with a battle shriek loud enough to curdle blood and energon alike. Drift follows but Strafe banks back upwards, whereas the triple changer unfolds halfway between sky and land, and Cade moves his attention when he sees Drift land on his target and begin slicing.

Somewhere to his left, Bumblebee is moving fast enough for Cade to smell burnt rubber among the dust and sweat and heat of battle.

It’s just him and three autobots against five decepticons, and Cade has learned to use what little advantage he can get. He is lightweight and agile, especially compared to his teammates. With the alien sword Excalibur and his own inventions, Cade can hold his own in a fight.

This wasn’t supposed to be a fight though, it was supposed to be a simple recon mission.

But it was a fight now, and the decepticon attack had been more of a surprise occurrence than a crafty trap. The cons had been just as startled when they had come across the searching team, so far from home base and caught off guard as they travelled through a tiny, near abandoned town.

It would certainly be abandoned _now_ , after all this nonsense was over…

Earth explodes before him and showers Cade in dirt, causing him to cough and gasp and scramble. He peeks over cracked plaster to track his progress across the sudden battle field. Cade’s legs gather under him, and he opens his hand as if to drop the ancient, alien sword. Excalibur--the Talisman--understands his action and instead of falling from his open palm slithers inward and remolds up his arm. It’s as simple as thought by now, for Cade to tell Excalibur to do something or make a certain shape, and the artifact is always responsive and willing. Now unencumbered and ready to move, he crouches into position, aiming carefully.

“Bee!” He calls, not needing to look because he knows his friend is listening to him, “Need some cover!”

And then, pushing himself up and silencing his flight mode instincts Yeager darts out and sprints. It’s risky, but he’s small and the cons are mostly distracted by the terrifying aerial attacks from Strafe and Drift. A burly, gray armored decepticon gives Cade a moment's glance and is thrown backwards by a warning blast from Bumblebee’s cannon. Cade’s gamble is a home run, his efforts rewarded as he skids into a half crumpled building and rounds a corner.

His eyes land on the huddled family of three immediately, and holds his hands out when they gasp and shrink back from him, as if _he_ is as strange and intimidating as the transformers that he fights with. Of course, Excalibur is an odd looking gauntlet right now, so one of his placating hands is covered in knights armor when the rest of him isn’t. That probably _does_ look to odd to a normal human, but it's the next best defense for Cade besides Excalibur's shield mode, and that’s too heavy to run with.

“Hey! Hey no--no it’s okay, we’re the good guys,” A relative term, but Cade didn’t have time to wax poetic on the finer points of alliances. Besides, he and Bee had already sheltered five more other innocent people, helping them flee the crumbling town as the decepticons launched from the road in anger and rage.

“And I’m gunna get you out of here, you’ll all be okay, I promise.”

He gives them his back to assess the ever changing situation, frowning at the uneven tide of the fight. His teammates know humans might still be in the buildings, so they are holding back and playing it safe.

The Decepticons aren’t fighting nearly as thoughtfully.

There is an easy way to end this quickly, and Cade knows the answer will arrive soon. He just has to save as many people as he could until that moment, even if it meant risking his own life in exchange. Cade rounds back on the poor people, keeping his tone soft.

“Come with me,” He ushers, keeping gentleness in his voice despite the growing urgency. “You can’t stay here, it’ll be okay.”

They move hesitantly, pushed by the father as the mother keeps her kid tight to her hip, all three half-stumbling to Cade’s side.

“That’s it,” He coaxes, taking them round back and trying to find a clear path to the town’s outskirts. They’ve gone round three buildings with good results when Cade’s luck finally bleeds itself dry, and they stumble outward and into the remains of a main section of street.

“Fuck it- _-goddamit_ , shit--fuck--”

This misstep costs not just Cade but his charges, and he curses loudly as he notices Bee is caught in a tangle with a sleeker con, one actually swift enough to give the clever little bot a challenge. More importantly, a distraction. Bee won’t be getting free to come protect them anytime soon. Neither Strafe nor Drift, and Cade pushes everyone and stands tall to block them from view.

His heroic posture earns a rude, deep bellow of a laugh, as well as a cannon arm wider than his torso levelled at him.

Cade tenses every muscle in his body and brings up the hand that carries the worn gauntlet. With thought, a push, Excalibur wiggles and spreads outward, leaving two arms of metal round his forearm as the rest of the living metal reforms to a large, curving shield. Cade swings it around in front of him and adjusts his stance, knowing he has seconds. The insignia is, humorlessly, varied every time. Today Excalibur has chosen a delicate, curling image of Dragonstorm breathing metal lines of fire. Regardless of its impressive ornate design, the shield shelters both Cade and the terrified family with ease.

The cannon blast is deflected, and when the earth’s tremble does not stop despite the decepticon’s attack being finished, Cade notices. He notices and his smile turns wicked. Below them, the earth is rumbling. His sly expression meets the stilled decepticon brute, who has frozen briefly, in _terror_ , optics locked onto something behind his prey.

There is a gust of exhaust at his back, and the mute stricken family turning ashen faces to look behind them. Cade looks too, watching Optimus Prime unfold from his alt mode and stand to his full, towering height.

“Why don’t you try picking on someone your own size?” Prime snarls, his voice rattling through the humans far below and making his human sneer. It’s not a fair challenge, since the commander has at least four feet on the poor decepticon. And Prime is just in a poor enough mood that he doesn’t bother waiting for a response.

Prime lurches forward but _over_ the humans, while Cade swings around and pushes the family back. Together the two move, mirrored images in reverse as if they’ve rehearsed such a maneuver.

Cade leads the family away from Prime but blindly grabs at his watch. It’s not a normal watch--not anymore. A few buttons and a click there and the signal goes out, reaching the fighting Prime across the battlefield. Now he can focus on moving the family through tighter, protective quarters to an escape route. Optimus will still be able to find him, without Cade having to shout or send up a flare.

Perhaps Lennox was right, perhaps Cade Yeager is more autobot than human these days. It is not a sentiment Cade takes rudely, how can he? The autobots are his friends, his family.

Across the streets and over a building, Optimus changes the advantage and swoops down on the cons like one of the barn cats on a nest of mice. Emboldened by the arrival of their leader, Bee, Strafe and Drift all regroup and flank the commander, only Bee breaks off occasionally to provide cover for their field medic and the humans he’s saving.

His little band of charges hesitate--mostly because the decepticons are starting to fall back. Optimus Prime is not someone to piss off even on his best days, and since his arrival heralded a near attack on his pet human, the cons are smart enough to flee and play the coward.

“Nope--keep moving.” Cade warns gently but firmly, and he strides with more regalness than he usually can muster, pretending to be Optimus. They obey, thank god, and Cade sees them off to the road out of town just as Prime walks up behind him.

“Were there any casualties?” Is the first thing the commander asks, watching the humans flee. Cade knows Prime means human-casualties, as all of his team is already accounted for. Well--Drift was complaining about his shoulder plating but he was _always_ complaining about that. But to hear his autobot ask so worridly after Earth’s once dominant species warms Cade’s heart and soothes his dying adrenaline.

“Nope.” Cade pops the ‘p’. “Not one. Everyone got out, though I’m sure they’ll come back eventually...once we’re gone.”

Few humans still wanted the company of Transformers, and now that Cade can see the damage done to an already crumbling mom-and-pop town, he can sympathize with them. Could never join them in their opinions, but…

“Thanks for coming.” Yeager smiles and watches proudly as the Prime refolds into his semi shape. He kills the signal on his watch, for it is only needed during times of danger and fight. Otherwise, Optimus usually knows where Cade is because he is with him. The semi door swings open invitingly, and Cade trots over to climb up into the bot’s cab.

“Of course.” As if Optimus would do anything else when he received that signal from Bumblebee? Cade wishes to himself that his watch had a further range too, but for now he will have to make do.

It’s been working pretty good so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are fun to write! But I'm trying to get a much bigger barn husbands fic off the ground, and between that and Life it's slowing me down. Thanks for your patience!


	4. Storm Watchers

_“Smooth seas do not make skillful sailors.”_

**4\. Storm Watchers**

Texas has a complicated relationship with rainfall.

It’s a dry state, sure, but it’s got quite a bit of ocean around it. The ocean doesn’t care about Texas being a dry state. It knows only weather and changing of seasons and when the moon pulls her tides. The ocean brings hurricanes, lightning storms and, of course, rain. Sometimes the dryness is cast away very quickly, with little warning. Sometimes in the summer heat storms boil and bubble and give way to the rain storms, making drizzles seem like monsoons.

Like right now, for instance.

Optimus Prime watches steel clouds mix into the charcoal ones, he intakes the atmosphere and notices the warnings of Bad, Powerful Weather coming to them. Earth had such a tangled net of weather, where some parts were ice and others sand and still other only ocean, endless and eternal and deep. A summer storm like this has warded away KSI’s human builders, leaving only the Autobot team on the compound. Optimus Prime can do many things, but he cannot fight Weather and he’s at rather peace with this. What would be the point? It is the nature of Earth, and Earth is, for better or for worse, his home now. They will simply do what they can, protect what has been built so it isn’t broken again, and wait out the storm.

Another scan for his team provides him more immediate answers to building questions.

Transformers do not all recharge and rise and play and explore together as one unit. Transformers mind their own until their commander needs them or if something must be done. Friends and sparkmates match schedules, this is a very common thing. Even after the war, there is safety in numbers. (And is the war ever truly, _really_ , over?)

Right now, catching bits of flying materials and stashing away Cade’s soaked and ragged tent is of high importance. The man’s mostly abandoned tent has been caught by tearing winds and now it dances up far to high, even as Hound reaches and Grimlock leaps to try catch it in careful teeth. He misses, lands clumsily and roars in their ancient language, _‘Angry! Strafe--Hunt NOW!_ ’ Thankfully Strafe is near him and hears the command, and the two headed beast rides the stormy gale effortlessly, snatches Cade’s soaked tent and returns to earth with a thud.

“Thanks, Strafe.” Cade hurries to the landed dinobot’s side and takes it, so the poor thing can get back out of the rain and under the shelter of the garage port in the east pasture. This is where the dinobots stay when they want shelter, and though they normally prefer open spaces Cade understands why every dinobot has sloshed and slipped through the mud to reach the tented port this time. This is one helluva gale and the rain is curtains of chilling bullets. It’s nothing harmful, not for the Transformers, but it’s miserable and gloomy.

Grimlock is the last of the dinobots to take shelter, using his larger frame to shield the others against the wind as Slug and Snarl hunker down against his metal flank and watch the storm with glittering optics. The minis are nowhere to be seen, likely tucked into the barn under Cade’s desk, instinct driving the little ones to nest and wait.

The half finished farmhouse is being tarped and blanketed by Drift and Crosshairs. Hound moves to help them, pausing to snatch some boards of wood that were propped against the side of the house and were now trying to make a run for it.

Bumblebee races up the driveway as if trying to out race the storm. Skyfire is above him, moving slow and low and clearly carrying a passenger. They had found someone, then. Their return is sudden enough that Optimus finds himself on guard.

Optimus considers his options, then strides to meet his scout. A cruel, tiny voice whispers the chances of it being Ratchet, or Jazz.

He knows without scanning it is not them. _Cannot_ , be them, and he pushes away all traces of regret and pain. Think when you are able, grieve when you are alone. Push through, right now, because your team needs you.

Cade, bless the man, notices Prime’s attention shift and follows his motions to greet Bee and Skyfire. Bee is already in park, and he unfolds out of alt mode and childishly gives himself a rattling shake to rid himself of the rainwater. For all the good it does.

“B-Bee! Watch it, I’m already soaked,” their small medic laughs, side stepping to get out of the way of Skyfire, who is a large shuttle and one small humans like him should be aware of. He would never land to intentionally hurt someone but size can be a problem on Earth.

“Who did you find?” Optimus asks, wasting no time on pleasantries because of the storm and sudden growing unease in his chest cavity. Bee was oddly quiet...and Skyfire too, seemed unsure. Finally the shuttle expands his doors and Bee slinks back, but holds his cannon at the ready.

“Autobots,” a voice hissed under the stinging waves of rain, from the darkness of Skyfire’s cargohold. “Of _course_ it’s autobots--just my luck, isn’t it…?”

“Is that…?” Cade’s voice trails off, whipped by wind and silenced by shock and awe. When Bee nods warily, Prime side steps to block Cade from view.

Sparks snapping from his casing, one wing bent at an awful, painful angle and muddy and trembling, Starscream glares at them all with hate and loathing. He’s every bit the cornered con, one of his wings trying to flare to intimidate and warn off threats.

The Air Commander hauls his broken body from the inside of Skyfire’s bay, clearly trying to stand on his own slim struts before the mud and his own wounds take him right down. He lands, heavily, with an angry screech and that draws him even more attention, the others noticing the unfamiliar paint job even through the torrent of rain.

“You brought Starscream _here_ , Skyfire?” Prime speaks lowly, his voice a rumble of thunder the storm should be proud of, but Cade can tell he’s pissed.

“Erh--yes, sir.” Skyfire hesitates as he unfolds out of alt mode and rises. “Starscream and I were friends, once. But when we found him--”

“It was **my** idea, Optimus. I made the call.” Bee’s original, soft voice is almost lost among the storm. But everyone who catches it stills, even the pissy seeker lying between the scout and the shuttle. His helm is bowed, but Cade can see the seeker’s missiles are gone. And even if they weren’t, his trained eye can see enough damage to Starscream’s exterior that it takes all his common sense not to move toward the transformer and begin helping him.

But he waits. He can read Prime enough to know that just because Bee brought Starscream here didn’t mean the con would get any special treatment.

“Oh, fine, yes, great idea, you little yellow bug!” Drift growls as he and Hound wander over. “Bring the second-in-fragging-command to our base! The skies gunna be covered in air support, and even if it isn't, then his damned trinemates will be right behind--”

 _“There isn't anyone coming!”_ This is Starscream who yells, voice higher in anger and...pain.

“My trinemates are offlined you auto-scum! You and your precious pets, you’re all to blame! _Murderers!!_ ” His optics are feverish and wide, but they narrow when they see Yeager, who freezes beside Prime’s pede.

“I should kill everyone last one of you--” But then Starscream’s rising frame slips, again, through the mud and grass and the seeker crumples miserably, his pain silencing his weakening threats. It’s...pathetic, to be honest. No one moved to attack the seeker because, honestly, what sport would it have been?

“He needs help, Optimus.” Bee speaks softly up to his commander, his friend. “Megatron’s gone off the radar again, we found him like this...but I don’t think this was one of us. I don’t think it was humans, either. This was... _different_.”

Prime stares down at the young scout, but nods, imperceptibly slowly. Down by his side, Yeager notices, and though he spares Prime a look he moves forward and approaches the seeker with far to much casualness for his current target.

“Skyfire, hey!” Cade shouts up to the distracted shuttle, his fins flaring in surprise when he hears his designation. “Gimmie a hand, wouldja? Med bay’s just got the roof up. We’ll put him in there.”

The rain storm makes everything harder, but between Skyfire’s strength and Starscream’s sudden submissiveness, Cade gets the half-conscious con sedated and safe out of the elements. ...And the autobots.

“Can you stay and watch him, Sky?” Yeager calls to the shuttle. He’s only known Skyfire a fraction of the time he’s known his team, but the shuttle is very much the gentle giant personality and it reminds him of Optimus. The shuttle nods, and Cade knows he made the right choice.

 _‘He and I were friends.'_ An interesting sentiment, and one Cade wanted to dig into but...not right now.

Cade slips into the barn, which somehow has become the meeting room for when the team has to deal with hiccups, chore duty or, like now.

When a decepticon is brought to their base during a storm so bad the back fields are washing out, and it’s only a matter of time before the wind takes down the powerlines. Outside the storm howls and rages, causing the barn to creak and moan eerily.

“--just don’t see why you’re letting that fragger take shelter _here_ , boss.” Hound shifts uneasily, tossing a grenade up and down. Cade knows it how the munitions bot fidgets, so he lets it slide. He busies himself with checking on the puppy pile of minis under his corner desk, but keeps his ear on the conversation.

“He’s a seeker--he’s _Starscream_!--but he’s a seeker. He gets away from us and tells his flock and we’re sitting corvids!”

“Crosshairs has a point, sensei. This could be some ploy to get among our ranks and if it is…”

“If it is, then I don’t think anyone told Starscream.” Cade quips as he climbs onto his desk and stands, hands on hips. The autobots fall contemplatively silent, and there are soft grunts of agreement. That was a big part of this mystery. And even if he could, it didn’t seem like Starscream was going to be talking any time soon.

“He’s in bad shape, big rig.” Cade turns to address his guardian, who lowers respectfully and likely to hear him over the sound of the wind outside. “Even just looking at him he’s gunna need weeks, and that’s only if we have all the parts I need for repairs. Which, I can tell right now, we _don’t._ His missiles are gone, one of his optics was cracked. And he can’t fly, that’s for sure.”

“If a seeker can’t fly, it can’t get away.” Drift murmurs from Prime’s left. Another murmur of agreement.

“Could hold him ransom.” Hound murmurs, sounding thoughtful.

“Who’d want Starscream?” Crosshairs snorts.

“You said Megatron was gone, Bumblebee?” Optimus asks, silencing everyone else.

Bee nods...then hesitates and makes an ‘i don’t know’ sound, his shoulder plates shrugging like Sam used to.

“Maybe he’s off the radar on purpose?”

“Naah, if that were the case Screamer’d be with ‘im.” Hound informs their small medic. “And if he _wasn’t,_ he’d be leading the damn Decepticons himself. Unless…”

“Maybe a mutiny?” Drift whispers slyly, earning more nods of agreement.

“ _Whatever_ the reason,” Cade interrupts before their speculation can get too far off the rails. “Starscream is here now. And he’s our responsibility. Well, actually, **I** think he should be Bee’s.”

Everyone who wasn’t Bumblebee looks eagerly at their commander, who didn’t break gaze with Yeager but nods.

“I agree. Autobots, this storm will help us as much as it’s been hindering. The only two seekers who would fly in this for Starscream are gone, according to their own trine leader.” And while Starscream is crafty, no trinemate lies about something so crippling and deadly a fact. It’s as good as signing a death warrant. “If Megatron is looking for Starscream, or if Starscream wants to join our ranks for some reason...we will cross those bridges when we come to them.”

“And if he wants to burn it all down?” Crosshairs asks in annoyance, then mutters on softly, _“Just got my damn azaleas planted...”_

“Then Bumblebee will stop him.” Optimus answers but is looking at Bumblebee. “One way...or the other.”

The scout, looking uneasy, simply nods and takes his orders. They all know it's as much a reward as it is a punishment. Optimus put a lot of faith in the scout. But Bumblebee also made a potentially dangerous call today.

“Autobots, finish your duties and then take shelter. We will wait out the storm.”

“We’ll need to go into town for supplies as soon as it's over, and guys?” Cade calls to make sure the bots are listening for him. “Stay alert. We’ll probably need some good old autobot muscle to help pick up the mess in town. Whether they want us or not.”

The barn door is wrestled closed, and Cade is alone with Optimus.

The human hops down, sighing tiredly and forces himself to try and organize his other desk over by the wall. But between the terrible storm just outside the old wood and his own tangled thoughts, Cade soon finds himself by Optimus, who is now a semi sitting on the far corner of the barn. It is his side of their shared space, but what's Prime’s is Cade’s and vice versa. The human climbs into the semi the second the driver door swings open, inviting and protective.

Even in alt mode, Optimus is bristled and watchful. Of the storm surrounding them, of the unmoving decepticon in their med bay a few yards away, and certainly of the growing unease and unknown looming on the horizon. Far too many questions with a shortage of answers. Each and every one could prove a threat to his family, to their safety. He’s tired of it, and it’s showing, now that he is alone with Cade.

So Cade tries to soothe his guardian, his commander, his partner. He’s young in the eyes of a War and a speck in the timeline of his teammates, but he agrees with Bumblebee. If someone wanted to change, if someone was alone and lost and small in the world, they deserved an offered hand, even if it was only once. Even if the in the other hand was a sword of warning. Of a promise to not be taken advantage of. Optimus and Cade had to _Try_. To find the treasure in the junk, to make something shine that has rusted. He shares this opinion with Optimus, who gentles and listens and by the end of it, is rumbling and sounding much more at ease than before. Cade Yeager rests, drowsing, in the safety of Prime’s cab, one ear on the radio and the other on the elements around them.

Outside, the storm rules all, if only for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My bigass-actually-an-attempt-at-plot barn husbands fic drops this month! Likely the 28th. Hopefully. In the meantime these are still fun. Thank you for the reviews and kudos!! They're much appreciated and I cherish every one!


	5. Together, With a Little Fortune

_ “And I think to myself...what a wonderful world…” _

**5\. Together, With a Little Fortune**   


Cade Yeager stands atop the cliff-side and stares into the canyon. 

It is bright, hot and summery today. Sometimes the wind provides a lovely breeze but mostly it does not. His only source of relief is the moving pillar of shade that is stepping up behind him. Cade leans back, boots catching pebbles which roll right over the side of the gorge and tink their way down into the depths. 

“Anything?” Cade asks his guardian hopefully. 

_ ‘Nothing _ ,’ says the Prime’s body language, and his scanners, and also a weary, glum shake of his great helm. 

“Awh, big rig.” Cade soothes, patting the behemoth who reaches down to let him step into his offered servo. Cade moves up the fanned fingers as easily as one wanders up a staircase. He naturally finds his balance when Optimus moves to stand upright, having long since developed the muscles and sense of steadiness one needs when their entire family is made up of Transformers. 

He’s higher now, of course, roughly over 20 feet in the air, and this view is far more impressive than his previous perch. (Of course, Optimus Prime himself is the  _ most  _ impressive thing of the landscape, but right now Cade really ought to focus.)

“We’ll find someone, eventually. They can’t all be...you know.” The human assures, trying to keep his tone light despite the suggestion. 

_ ‘Gone. Offline.’  _

Optimus nods, then shrugs, a shake that rattles his armor from tip to pede and he stalks back to the road, restless and worried. 

Cade notices; because he always notices when Optimus is in a mood like this. 

The semi is several miles down the road before Cade stretches out lengthwise across the warm seating. Both are at ease yet alert, eternally seeking others of Prime’s kind and aiming for the horizon. They have only been gone a few days, which is nothing compared to Bumblebee’s usual romps. (Although the poor scout has been cooped up for weeks now, as he is constantly looking after a not-quite-captive-but-fussy-as-ever Starscream.) 

Cade twists his neck, Prime’s window is down and the moving air gusts across his forehead and cheeks. The cool air feels nice, but he’s been a Texan boy long before he moved here as a kid, and the heat is just as welcome. He soaks in its rays, letting his eyes droop closed. The venture before had been an easy but long hike across the land, following a few old trails as he and Optimus split up. Somewhat split up, as Cade knows he is never far from Prime’s watchful gaze even on the safety of the compound. Certainly not in the wilderness, where Transformers of all types sometimes take shelter to lick wounds and gain bearings. 

They are not on the compound right now, of course, so Prime is that much more protective. 

The inventor mulls over his thoughts, letting them wander and melt and chase tails of other ideas. He knows how important it is that Optimus focuses on finding fellow Transformers, and he doesn’t want to interrupt the Prime’s concentration with silly musings or average conversation. 

And besides, existing together in soft silence as they move down the highway is far too soothing a thing to shatter. The rhythmic motion lulls Cade into a shallow sleep, his consciousness fluttering in and out like a fish that brushes just under a lake’s surface. 

Blue skies lose clouds and melt into purple, which melt into orange as Optimus drives southbound, taking the long way home. It’s just long enough that he makes a detour, meandering into the parking lot of a tiny rest stop. Prime regards the sad blue of the neon lights and chooses a nice, out of the way spot in the lot. This is to somewhat mixed success, because of the natural way of the parking lot and the diner’s many windows. That, and he’s an ocean blue semi with red flames licking backwards from his grill. He gleams in the dying sunlight like a precious jewel. He doesn’t really blend but Optimus pays no mind to others, and Cade Yeager always seems to take a sort of pride in Prime’s appearance. 

“Cade? Cade--wake up.” Optimus fails to fight a thrum of amusement when the dozing man whines and rolls away from the dash, burying his face in Prime’s seating. It is childish and charming, and Optimus rolls down his windows to let the cool twilight breeze in.

“Come now, my friend. You haven’t eaten since this morning. It is well into the evening.” 

Groggy and grumbling, the inventor wakes and pours from the semi’s cab to the ground. He stretches, almost forgetting to shut Prime’s door before stumbling toward the ramshackle diner. Before he can follow the scent of bacon and cheeseburgers, he swivels midstep to eye the semi.

“Gunna stay here?” He throws over his shoulder, trying to cracking his back. 

“Yes.” Prime’s engines rumble with obvious affection, before lowering then shutting off altogether. He looks every bit the casual, usual semi sitting among other models that are far more simple looking and asleep for the night. 

The diner is longways and low ceiling-ed. Cade lets his eyes adjust before sitting in a booth in the back, sinking into the tired plastic seats and finally managing to get the crick from his spine in that motion. His relief puts him in a pleasant mood, and he smiles when his waitress approaches.

“That your rig, honey? The blue one?” Cade’s waitress asks as she pours him a treacle thick cup of coffee. 

“Hnn?” He’s far too focused on drowning his exhaustion in creamer, but a quick check of the blonde’s attention and he manages a smile. “Yeah, he--that’s mine.” 

People named their cars all the time! Hell, even Luckycharms nicknamed his piece of junk. Truckers especially would name rigs, Cade surmised. The slip up wasn’t even acknowledged. And if it was, perhaps simply written off as one of the many oddities of her job, working as a waitress in a diner for mostly tired travelers and truckers. Certainly she had seen and heard odder than  _ him _ , right? 

“I like the flames.” She pops her bubblegum and makes her smile more than just welcoming. “Looks a lot stronger than any of the haulers I usually see come through here, too.”

It seems to be as much a tease as a flirt, but Cade just gentles his smile and asks politely for a menu. 

Cade is pretty sure Optimus wasn’t the jealous type, but why risk it? Besides, he hadn’t been on a date in decades and didn’t need to give this pretty girl the run around. He was...he had his hands full currently, rebuilding the house and the lab, getting the garages and hangers squared away. Then they would focus on NEST, all the while he knows without asking Optimus will be searching for fellow autobots. He was clearly even open to willing decepticons that behaved (if one could call bitchy little Starscream  _ willing _ ,) and so Cade would be too. What they did they did together. 

The meal is greasy, the toast is dry and the coffee goes down with all the grace of a handful of cereal but it’s food, and it comes quickly. After two years of being on the run, this type of food is standard fare and he knows if Tessa could see it she’d lecture him on cholesterol and sugar and whatever the hell else was in this that was bad for him. (Not that he would disagree, but he really can’t stand health nut food.) 

Cade stands, and after a moment of consideration shoves three twenties under his plate for his waitress and heads to the register to pay. Emily worked a waitressing job in high school, and since an incredibly thoughtful fund from KSI, money is no longer a weight in the back of Cade’s mind. But he knows he’s one of the lucky ones, especially out here in bumfuck nowhere. 

Yeager ignores the few, lingering stares of trucker as he saunters by, trying not to look smug as he passes their old, dirt covered trucks and beelines for the behemoth at the end of the line. There are none in a shape remotely close to Prime, because as usual he outclasses them all. 

“Feel like a million bucks when we get looks like that, huh big rig?” He whispers into the cab as he vaults up. He pretends to busy himself with seatbelt and key turning, when in reality it’s Optimus who turns his engines and flicks on his head lights. Night had fallen only minutes ago, but there were rules to the road even Transformers had to follow. 

“You never seem to mind the attention.” Prime remarks, sounding rather pleased. 

“Me? C’mon. Mister Humble. As pie.” 

“Of course.” 

Cade laughs, checking over his shoulder before he undoes the belt and shifts into a comfier position. 

The sunk has sunk before the horizon a while ago. He checks, eyeing the position of the moon because it’s more natural for him than having a watch at this point. Late, his eyes and instincts tell him. Absolutely. But he’s far from tired. 

“My hours are all outta whack lately.” Cade remarks to himself, not sure if he’s upset about this. He labels it as a Fact and Maybe Something to Worry About? And then moves on. 

“Think they got the plumbing finished back home? They oughta, Slag was certainly plowing a deep enough trench for the new septic tank when we left.” 

The dinobots are not exactly world renowned geniuses but Cade and they have built a solid relationship built on understanding and occasional one word shouting. (Not because of willful ignorance on the dino’s parts, simply because sometimes they can’t hear him because of the difference in size.) Grimlock is by far the most willful of the bunch, but even he’s nothing compared to the time Tessa wanted to go to the 8th grade ball with some schmuck named Billy. 

“Likely.” is Prime’s pragmatic as ever answer, perfectly said in a way to cover both sides. Even Cade knows Prime doesn’t really mean it  _ this  _ time, that he would prefer to throw everyone of Joyce’s men off his territory one by one, or perhaps set Grimlock on them. But he doesn’t, he keeps the peace, which Cade is thankful for. KSI and their tangled history aside, Cade needs a house and the ability to shower at some point. He can’t keep jumping in the modest lake just outside his property and hoping for the best 

The conversation wanders like the road before them. Stars blink into existence and the vastness of deep dark space curls overhead, watching them without eyes.

The world turns, as it usually does, and the two continue their journey toward home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //sigh. It started raining here again.


	6. Lost Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my gf loves StarBee and tbh now so do I. (I mean i always 'liked' it but like...never did nothing about it until now.) Tags updated!

_ “Computer, define: dancing.”  
“Dancing: A series of movements involving two partners, where speed & rhythm match harmoniously with music.” -WALL-E _

**6\. Lost Boys**

Bumblebee is, for better or for worse, the smallest autobot. 

He is short, which is a good build for a scout. He is young, which is good for his mindset--and he is clever, full of wonder and eagerness to explore their new home. He fits in on Earth, either as a car or an autobot, and he loves humanity deeply.

And Bumbleblee is, for better or for worse, quite a bit like the commander who more or less raised him. 

But he is not Optimus Prime  _ exactly _ ; for no one can be a perfect copy of another soul, not even Twins. (Transformer or otherwise.) He is himself. He is Bumblebee, sometimes in their dead language he is  _ Golden-Fire,  _ sometimes  _ The-Last-of-His-Kind, _ sometimes he is  _ Prime’s-Golden-Dagger.  _

But he is always,  **always** Bumblebee. 

He has been on Earth for many of its cycles. (Rotations?) And he has busied himself in his spare time with wandering and roaming when Cade or his commander doesn’t need him. The war is over, somewhat. Lulled if nothing else. The world didn’t seem to be holding its breath, but there was a certain unease on the edges of it all. Bee doesn’t notice, and if he does notice he doesn’t care. He misses all his humans that he’s buried, and adores Cade Yeager’s girl Tessa, but she is not exactly his. Right now, he is not a guardian for anyone. If pinned down and forced to answer, he is a bit lonely. 

So he gives in to his programming. He follows the wind, follows the road and follows his yearning. Bumblebee wants freedom, wants speed.

And, of course, he always wants a good race. 

“Not now, Bee.” Cade murmurs low, half buried in his project in the cool air of the barn. 

“Perhaps later, my friend.” Prime rumbles affectionately, but nevertheless turns him down. 

“I’m afraid I’ve lost one too many times to you, little hornet.” Skyfire chuckles but shakes his helm.

“Feeling desperate, eh...” Crosshairs’ sneer curdles to a dismissive deflection. “Piss off, can’t ya I’m busy? These hostas won’t plant themselves...”

Irritated, Bee’s engines grinds angrily, like a human might grind teeth and he slinks off. 

“What are you  _ doing _ , autobot?” comes that nasally, pesky but familiar voice. Starscream stands in the medbay doors, wings crooked. He is hurting, he is pissy...but he is curious. Seekers are an inquisitive bunch, if overlooked in terms of processing power. But Starscream--when his cowardice allowed him too--could be considerably cunning and deadly.

At least, he  _ used  _ to be. 

Several weeks after his arrival and the once second-in-command has become a bit of a lawn ornament. No one has shown up to claim the seeker or help him launch a surprise attack. Cade pities him, and sometimes Bee agrees with the man. If Starscream had truly lost his trine, his commander, and his faction...what  _ does  _ he have left? 

Their clever medic had given the seeker back his wings, patched his deepest wounds, and granted him asylum. But there is no cure for the ugliness of Starscream’s spark. 

Bumblebee thinks that perhaps this is a cruel assumption, and he notices the way the seeker’s intelligent optics glint at the sky when he thinks no one is looking. Asshole or not, Starscream is a seeker. They crave the open sky like humans do oxygen. 

But seekers are so annoying, terribly rude and... _ challengingly _ ...fast, too. Oh.

The camaro’s engines thrum thoughtfully. He rolls forward, nose half aimed at the seeker before he gives a low gun of his engine. It snarls, low and liquid, snaring the seeker’s suddenly sharp attention. 

Bumblebee does not speak very well anymore, but that is alright. He’s learned to do without.

Another snarl of his gears, his sleek camaro form rocking toward the road in a mock lunge. Any Transformer knows what  _ that  _ means, especially the race-addicted seeker types.

And then Starscream’s optics glint, briefly. Hungrily. He schools his aquitaine features.

“You cannot be serious.” He’s playing hard to get, the way he inspects his talons and turns his servo away from him to study the back of the tips. Bumblebee doesn’t buy it for a second. Seekers love races, even ones that might pose no challenge because Bee can’t fly. (Well, that’s what Starscream probably thinks. But Bumblebee knows other ways of flying.) 

_ “Get your motor runnin'~”  _ Bee’s speakers snarl in a heavy male voice. The song is rock and roll and fast.  _ “Head out on the highway--Heavy metal thunder...Racin' with the wind…” _

Oh, it is a challenge. The jet’s optics narrow dangerously. 

“Racing a seeker,  _ please _ . You’d blow your gaskets just trying to find my exhaust trails…”

Bumblebee’s engines gun again, and the little camaro skates backwards into an elegant swing. He’s as much showing off as he is adjusting his position, for now its a straight shot down the long drive to the main road. 

“I was told by your little vermin-medic to  **not** over do my new wings.” Star reminds, tone icy. But he is strutting forward, stepping into the sunlight and unable to stop his helm from rising to the vast blueness above them. His wings strain out wide, and Bumblebee knows what the motion means. His tires dig into the gravel of a smooth tarmac the same way. Starscream wants to move, too.  _ Really  _ move. He’s desperate enough to be giving Bumblebee the time of day, and Bee is willing to capitalize on this. He’s so bored!

“...if your team attacks me when you lose, I will ruin you.” He warns, but crouches on those slender vertexes and launches upward, hard and fast. He’s five feet off the ground and he’s folding inward. He’s ten and a bundle of gliding plates and elongating fins. He’s twenty and the thrusters kick in. 

Bee roars forward. 

In good spirit, Bumblebee keeps it under eighty until he knows Starscream has received the coordinates of his planned race track. Long, deliciously curving and dangerously narrow, with a few jumps here and there that he knows won’t mean anything to the seeker above him. Bumblebee put those in for personal tastes, because the only thing better than racing was being weightless while doing so. 

Starscream returns an affirmative, but it is short and quick. All business. His trash talk seems to have slipped from his speakers, as the miles slip away behind them. Bee can tell the seeker is getting used to flying, that he is likely stiff and sore because he is only just healed.

If there is one thing you can count on with Starscream, it's that he’s selfish. Even he wouldn’t participate in a race that would threaten his ability to fly ever again. So Bee knows this is alright, what their doing. That Starscream wants to roam and race as much as--if not more, since it's been so long for him--than Bee.

And oh, what their doing is  _ wonderful _ . 

Of course, it begins aggressively, rubber burning and thrusters keening at abuse. Bee pushes himself to what humans would label as about 500  _ impossible  _ mph and stays there. A seeker, of course, would think this far to slow, but the point of a race is to enjoy it, and even power-hungry Starscream seems to play by these rules. Still, Star stays up high, taunting and callous as Bumblebee’s engines growl from below. And Bee stays just a few feet back, watching his opponent, observing. He kills his radio. This is an easy, old and favorite tactic. Optimus taught him when he was only a youngling to use his small stature in his favor. Wheeljack used to tell him ‘calculate twice, sodder once.’ Ironhide lectured him on the importance of knowing your enemy, especially ones you needed to keep alive. Ratchet used to just scold him for being clumsy, but that’s how children just are. Bumblebee was never any different. 

But he was always fast, and always clever. 

They move across the main road and off, graveling spitting and kicking up as the camaro suddenly pushes forward, eating up the ground. He stays teasingly just under the jet’s nose, noticing that Starscream is lowering from the sky, can practically read the confusion bleeding from the jet’s actions. Starscream is so out of shape--or perhaps so focused on flying--that he seems to have misplaced the little scout. 

So Bee matches the seeker’s speed and holds it as if out for a Sunday drive, laughing mentally to himself when the jet notices and just about falls out of the sky in shock. 

He kicks on his radio, roaring music upward. It’s his best battle cry, it’s loud and raucous and the seeker seems to fly faster when he hears it. Star can tell when he’s being goaded, which is good because Bumblebee is playful as ever. He’s been so lonely lately he’ll even be playful with a decepticon!

Starscream swoops upwards and then low again, banking sharply to his right. His belly is to the camaro, and Bumblebee drifts sideways, catching a current from the jet’s lowest wing that allows him to coast around the upcoming turn. A patch of unprepared pine trees bow and shirk from the weight of Star’s sweep, and he banks upright in response to avoid further near-collisions. The forest soon thins, then flattens and all that lies before them is sky, sun and desert-earth. It’s thick, grisly and waterless. Dirt is different than asphalt, but Bumblebee loves a challenge. 

He slips and skids up a trail that goes upward, his rear wheels fishtailing. The jet he is following pinwheels, rapidly nose diving upside down to fly a bit lower than him for a few feet. Then the jet kills his secondary set and glides up. They are level, with thirty feet below Starscream’s pearl belly and nothing but space above.

The first jump comes at remarkable, break-neck speed.

Starscream seems to expect some hesitance on the scout’s part, but he is proven wrong when--of all things--he hears the camaro’s engines rev  _ faster _ . As if the little idiot is excited at the prospect of being airborne, of leaving the safety of earth behind. 

Being a jet, Starscream understands this desire to fly. He just doesn’t comprehend a vehicle--a grounder!--wanting to share in that familiar exhilaration. Purposefully seeking it out. 

Alongside and across the invisible track of the sky, the jet watches the camaro speed straight off the little cliffside. His wheels keep spinning, which is smart, and when he lands on the other side he is several feet safe inside the cliff edge and safe. His own momentum is accounted for, though the next turn lifts him off both right tires, briefly until he regains his hold on the earth.

They are higher for only a moment, and then the road is falling downward like a tumble of insecticons. The change in altitude and landscape brings an unexpected gust of wind that sends Starscream off balance but only for an instant. And he seems to enjoy this, because Bee notices that the jet seeks another sharp updraft and twirls an entire 360 degrees. His lazy spiral ends in a hairpin bank as the seeker quickly adjusts his course, suddenly racing Bumblebee again. The camaro’s speakers laugh up chipper synth-music at him, pleasant and happy. Starscream is utterly baffled by the sound. 

The second jump slithers up, crafty and quick. It’s wide, much wider than the last. A quick check of his own scanners and Starscream confirms that if the camaro could jump that last one with so much allowance than this one too, shall be a stroll in the sky. He slows, just a bit, so that he and Bee are neck and neck again. Bumblebee is being watched by the jet--’ _ Can you?’ _ \--and Starscream is pretending to ignore that he’s being so obvious. Politely, the camaro pretends to ignore him, too. 

Something then passes between the two, something unbidden and fresh and surprising. 

Which is why both parties are stunned when the jet scoops downward through the air, flying under the camaro at the peak of Bee’s arc. Perhaps no one is more stunned than Starscream, the perpetrator of such a playful move, that he quickly tries to follow it with a challenging pulse of all his thrusters. His fins jerk and his wings stretch and he streamlines straight ahead, trying to pretend to care about winning. And  _ only  _ winning. 

Below him, back on earth and following the slow descent of the rocky trail, the scout snickers to himself. 

The strange new thing expands between them with each mile gained. It becomes a fierce, sharp joy, stinging bright and strong. A race is an exhilarating event, a thing of power and speed and glory. A race that takes them somewhere  _ new _ , of course, is just high grade energon on the top. It is not terribly new for Bee, who has lived here for almost an earth year by now. But it is new for his opponent and the scout watches Starscream explore the sky and landscape with growing interest.

Suddenly Starscream leaves the invisible track to soar to the west, following a bright glint that he wonders at. Sensing no nearby life that could be a threat, he allows himself the wonder of not knowing until he is close enough. It glints, teasingly, and when Bee sends a questioning blip over the comm. link Star only answers with an absent trill. It is an answer that his trinemates would know, and he is so focused on exploring and flying that for an instant he is not the last mate in a dead trine. He is not Second in Command of the Losing Side, he is not a decepticon and Bumblebee is not an autobot. They are wanderers, together, each wanting to roam to the ends of the earth and father still. They are each the same thing as the other, and communication is important mostly unspoken. 

It is a wordless response but both perfectly understood each other, which is interesting. 

He trails upward, eyeing the shiny flickers of trapped sunlight. He is, after all, a seeker, and they are prone to focusing in on shiny things that catch their fancy. The dancing glitter is a modest lake, fresh water that is smooth as glass. The camaro finds a trail and where he cannot find one he makes one, skating along the sandy little rock beach as the jet flies along the water in the middle of the kidney shaped lake. When he tips a wingtip into the glass, he watches the wave that he leaves behind with a marveling thrum. 

And Bumblebee watches him. 

Bee is halfway round the lake when he notices the jet darting at him and dipping low. A wave splashes over the camaro, diamond droplets pattering in their wakes. Starscream cackles, and is thoroughly rewarded for his attack when Bee lurches sideways into the lake and his tires send a small tsunami over the seeker’s wings. The race is forgotten for an instant, the two simply try and get the other wet. They tease and chase around the lake edge simply because it’s fun, for no reason other than to keep challenging the other.

The two return to the route Bee had created earlier, following the long valley up and out until suddenly there is a black snake of tarmac and Starscream finds them coming in a great big, winding circle. He recognizes a small human sign and assures himself of the rest of the route. 

The third jump is about the same as the last, though this time Starscream does not wind up under the camaro when it flies across the ravine. This time he drops low and mimics Bee, doing an upside down arc that ends in a dizzying tailspin. The seeker scatters the clouds, the scout scatters the earth. 

Together, they move, like unbottled lightning. Like freedom, like wind and life.

The race ends at the drive of the Autobot-Yeager compound. 

Starscream is too winded, too tired to be truly furious when he realizes his scanner catches Bumblebee just  _ slightly  _ ahead of him by a nose at the marked finish line. The length of his own jet nose, in fact! Perhaps he should slim his build down more, his hollow armor needed a sleeker alloy maybe--

He is given a bit of satisfaction when the seeker lands and notices the camaro is sagging on its wheels. Starscream rudely ignores the pleasant, friendly purr of Bee’s engines when the camaro spots him and simply makes a show of dusting himself off. 

“What...what did I say?” He pants, flaring his armor discreetly to begin cooling his systems down. That lake was refreshing but he was long since dry. 

“As if I’d ever--ever  _ lose  _ to an autobot like you.” 

The scout gives a series of  _ blips! _ and  _ virrups! _ that are grating and most certainly  **not** charming or cute. 

“Yes. Well. As I said... _ phew _ ....” Star exvents and invents sharply. “They’d better not come after me for...for  _ my  _ victory.” 

But, technically, Starscream lost. They both know it. 

And so does the compound too, as the seeker sees Optimus Prime and his pet stroll up as if they owned the place. (...they did, of course, but semantics.) He bears his denta but his wings flatten submissively and he hates himself for the tank-reaction. 

“Was that...where did you guys go to?” The little male human, the medic, asks with such a hint of incredulous that the seeker wants to punt him across the yard. He refrains, of course. Cade is the only one who will fix his wings if they get damaged again. (And, admittedly, he was slower but far more humane than Shockwave.)

“Your little scout started it.” Starscream snaps, trying to sound irritated. It...somewhat works. He thinks. “Do you often let him race decepticons?”

“Bumblebee can handle himself just fine, Starscream.” Prime answers, tone low in warning and a hint of amusement. Frag, then they did see them racing. 

“Yeah. What he said,” Cade jerks a thumb over his shoulder at his mountainous shadow and walks a circle around the jet. “Didn’t fuck up anything did you? You just got put back together, Starscream…”

“Worry about your  _ own  _ team, medic.” Star’s answer is rude as usual. No change there. “I raced in top form today, in spite of your shoddy butchering that you call repairing.” 

Optimus and Cade share A Look, but Cade decides to address what’s most funny to him. 

“You don’t race Bee.” Cade explains, laughing softly as if Starscream is a friend. “You  _ lose  _ to Bee. Still...I’ve never seen anyone lose that little to him.”

Bumblebee gives a liquid croon of affection in Cade’s direction, as the little camaro ambles toward a shady patch to get a good recharge. 

The seeker simply hisses and scoffs, rolling his optics and sauntering away to the medbay. His steps are lazy, absent minded and distracted. 

Oh, yes. Starscream had lost all right. 

He had a strange concern that, if Bumblebee were allowed in his life more, he would lose much more than a silly race where nothing of value was at stake. (How  _ boring _ !) 

He would have to be smart, of course. Maintain the upper hand, always. Stay cold and uncaring. Distance himself and stay alert and guarded, and...   
...and he would  _ have  _ to win the next one. 


	7. Night Dreamer I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one shot became a two shot, lol.

_“Bitter sweet and strange, finding you can change, learning you were wrong…” -Beauty and the Beast_

**7\. Night Dreamer I**

Cade Yeager never used to sleep most nights.

This is a bitter, itching fact for Tessa Yeager, his oldest and but no longer his _only_ child.

He never used to keep healthy hours; he ate like he was a walking garbage disposal. He was always unkempt, face half hidden under a worn baseball cap, often standing alone at the PTAs and her dance recitals. And frankly, well, Cade acted like a junkyard dog more than he did a man in his early thirties who should have been looking for someone to share the rest of his life with. Someone who cared for him, someone who could…

Replace wasn’t the word. _Replace_ was a vile, painful tearing word with sharp claws that raked across her heart and made her eyes sting. No one could _ever_ hope to replace her mom, not in her soul and certainly not in Cade’s. She was stubborn about this minor detail, but he was _worse_. (After all, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, illegitimate or no.) It made their options limited; since Cade had little interest every time she tried matching him up with someone. There was always a first date, rarely a second and never a third. There was always something wrong with her, something wrong with him, or the often totted out, “It just wasn’t working between us, sweetie.”

So imagine her surprise and delight when Cade said a woman’s name when they spoke for the first time in two years!

The first time she heard it, it was through static and thousands of miles away—her dad had made it to England? All the way from where-ever-the-fuck-he-was-hiding…to _England_? And he had met someone! He had saved the world too, or something to that effect, but he had _met someone!_

And then Cade was prattling on, talking to her eagerly with years of silence finally behind them. He mentioned Bee a few times—half to her, half scolding the camaro on the other end that was getting into something he shouldn’t—and said the woman’s name maybe twice.

And then all he would talk about was Optimus.

Optimus Prime— _Nemesis_ Prime?—returning, first against them, against poor little Bumblebee (she heard his whistles when she cooed synthetically for the poor baby, because Bee was a sweetheart and Tess coddled him worse than her father did the mini’s.)

Optimus coming back a _second_ time—this time to his senses, purple fading to blue and so, so frightened, her daddy had recalled sadly. (A strange, chilling concept. Optimus Prime was a force, a godlike being even among his own species. Tessa doesn’t like to think about him being scared of anything.)

Optimus just…giving up. Willing to die out of shame and pain.

 And then Optimus fighting, alongside Cade and humanity, defending them. Shielding them from blows, catching them midair and sheltering his and Viv’s plummet with his own frame. (There was that name again!)

And then Optimus coming back with Cade. Bringing Cade home and not leaving, as Cade had so often feared. (She can’t blame the man, but her father did not do well with being alone. It was an odd trait, considering he was also so against finding someone new.)

And then Cade had finished his catch-up and wanted to hear only about her, about her classes and dating and etc. The stuff he had missed but tried desperately to let her keep. Joyce paid for her schooling, and the farther she was, the safer. She even had her last name changed—not legally, of course—to avoid detection. And it worked, for two years and four semesters it had worked…but now it was time to come home.

Well, soon. First it was time for Cade—and the autobots, or as dad said, “me an’the team,” to return to the land in Texas and see what was salvageable. He wanted her to wait a few more months, maybe only two, so that she could finish her semester properly and come home to a room instead of a pile of rubble or a tent in the yard.

The second time they talked for far longer, Cade was closer—in the country, thank god—and had been at the farm and was well into getting it ready.

“Dad, I can catch a plane, really.” She laughed wetly, trying to hide her tears of relief at coming home. Not just to the farmhouse, but to the land she had grown up on. Her granddaddy’s land, with her daddy’s workshop and her mother’s gardens and trees. Emily had little desire to be in the kitchen when she could be out in the open, exploring and wandering under sunshine and helping Cade tinker on his endless projects.  

“Uh-uh, no little girl of mine is getting in one of those things. They’re a menace! Just, just sit tight for a lil longer, sweetheart. Drift and Cross are only a day out. You go with them; they’ll take care of you.”

“A _menace_? I thought you liked Drift.” She remarked in amusement.

“Drift is a _copter_ , baby girl. Those are slow and safe. Planes are not! Shuttles, yes, fine, but Skyfire’s busy with Hound so I won’t ask him to come get you. And I sure as shit ain’t leaving the life of my daughter in Starscream’s claws.” Behind Cade’s rant, Tess could just make out Bee’s familiar trilling giggle. She smiled despite herself, because she missed Bee. He was such a little shit sometimes, but he was the most human like of the gang.

Skyfire? And then of course Tessa wondered who the hell ‘Starscream’ was, but decided he must be some flyer type. One her father clearly didn’t like, which was…odd. Dad loved the autobots.

“Fine, dad.” Tessa added a hint of amused reproach, to let him know things could go Back to Normal again.

How wrong she was.

* * *

Tessa tries bringing up the woman to Drift and Crosshairs, since they have nothing but time on the ride home. She’s curled up in Cross’ luxury seats, book propped open but fingers covering most of the words when she tries.

“Sooo, who did my dad meet?” she starts, remaining calm.

“Meet?” Crosshairs asks, sounding distracted as he changes lanes to get by a lumbering minivan. “Tourists,” he mutters to himself, despite being a tourist to the planet from a galaxy far far away.

“Could she mean Vivianne?” Drift’s lilting voice comes through the speakers, since he and Crosshairs always had a two way connection open. (Tessa isn’t sure what Transformers would call the two, but she knows a couple when she sees it. And Drift and Cross were absolutely a couple.) 

“Oh, right.” Crosshairs grunts in an offhanded manner. “That human femme. Meet her in England. Guess they hit it off for a bit, or sumthin.”

“She is a teacher to younglings, I believe Hot Rod said.” Drift murmurs when Tess makes a noise at the lack of information. “Very polite thing, a bit skittish though.”

“She’s prolly only skittish on account’a her first meeting with Prime was him threatening ta squish her when he was under that witch’s control!” Crosshairs grumbles back.

“Yeah, Dad told me about _that_.” Tess frowns, fiddling with the pages of _Around the World in 80 Days._ It wasn’t terribly hard to picture an angry Optimus Prime, but it was hard to picture an angry Optimus Prime threatening someone who had done him no wrong first. Especially a human. From the way Cade spoke, most of Prime’s dregs of ire were often aimed at Joyce when the man came to see how the building was coming along. And even those were just looks. 

“But what about her? Vivianne? Viv, I think he called her?” Tessa decides not to mince words, since Crosshairs sometimes needs questions as blunt as he is.

“Is she at the house?” He hopes they don’t catch her eagerness. She’s sure Drift does, though.

“At the house--? Feh, hell no.” Crosshairs makes another noise as he changes lanes.

“She will come with young Izabella and that crackpot Cogman.” Drift assures in his cool manner. “I believe late August, when Izabella is done with her schooling.”

“…dad mentioned Izzy, too.” And even Cogman, though nothing he said was overly nice. Still, that was her dad for you. “Alright, I’m just gunna come out and ask it.” She snaps her book closed irritably.

“Are my dad and Viv dating?”

Crosshairs swerves just a bit, earning a honk from a startled jeep that he drowns out with his own horn and some choice swear words Tess knows are not English. Or any human language. Then his laughter starts up and even Drift chuckles.

_“Datin!?_ That human term fer fraggin? Hell no! Primus—put two lit matches together next to gasoline, you’d get a smaller reaction than those two being THAT close!”

Tessa huffs, waiting for Crosshairs to finish. “I was just—shut _up,_ Cross! I was just asking. Look, my dad needs someone. I thought he finally might have found someone after my mom and—“ Her cheeks flush scarlet as her anger moves to pain and she clams up, as is the Yeager family tradition.

The response strikes a chord with Crosshairs, and even he falls respectfully silent. Drift speaks next, slow and soothing to her.

“Forgive Crosshairs, little one. We know the loss of your carrier was hard on you both. But…I believe the two have remained friends, although their separation is for both their peace of minds. Absence, as you humans say, makes the spark grow fonder.”

_“Heart.”_ Tessa corrects icily, reopening her book and burying herself in it.

“Same thing.” Drift says, his smile unmistakable even though he is a sleek car gliding beside Crosshairs.

“’Sides, Cade is _far_ from lonely in the compound _these_ days.’ Crosshairs says, almost snidely, and quietly. Like he’s sharing a secret. It makes Tessa’s ears prick, and she glances reluctantly from Phineas Fogg’s adventures after a moment, her bright eyes boring into Cross’ dashboard.

“So he is…? _With_ someone?” She hedges, allowing herself a hopeful tone.

“You could say that.” Crosshairs answers far too airily.

“That is not for us to give away, my lotus blossom.” Drift answers tersely, and it takes Tessa four minutes to digest that Drift just unironically called Crosshairs _‘my lotus blossom.’_ They were so a couple. An odd couple, to be sure, but still…it was almost sweet.

“Have some respect.”

Crosshairs grunts, his engines rolling but he falls obediently silent at his partner’s mild scold.  

Tessa tries going back to her book, but for once not even Jules Verne can distract her mind from all she’s just heard and learned.

* * *

At first glance, she could cry.

The house is _back_ —it’s rebuilt—with every tender and thoughtful attention to detail as she could have expected Cade to give the old homestead. The house they left behind was in her mother’s family for generations, and what little she knew of Cade’s childhood wasn’t good. Of course he would cling to this place, and fix it from memory alone. He mentioned more than twice he was doing it on Joyce’s dime, and spared no expense. It was a bit bigger than before, an extra room here or there. For guests, maybe?

_‘For Viv and Izzy…’_ She thinks to herself as she stashes her things in her bag and fumbles for Cross’ passenger door handle.

“You want to run all the way up there?” Cross teases in his gruff way, but does pick up speed now that he’s off the main road. Drift is beside him, the new driveway is gorgeous tarmac and three times wider than what she remembers. It’s mostly straight, too, no longer winding and ambling. Odd, but maybe it was easier for the autobots to drive up?

The only one who would have a problem with the old drive would be Optimus, though…

Tessa’s thoughts are shaken from the rafters of her mind when the barn door is shoved open and she sees him.

“Cross! Let me out!” She demands without thinking, and ignores Cross’ teasing because she hears the lock disengage and that’s all that matters.

“A touching reunion.” She hears Drift remark in his zen way as she bolts from Crosshairs and runs, all the way, slamming herself into her father’s arms and half sobbing, half laughing in relief when he picks her up and swings her around.

Both father and daughter become a bit of a mess, scrabbling to get out all their feelings at once and make up for two years of no hugs and no warmth and no time. Cade kisses her forehead and hugs her again, grip tight and protective. He’s still Cade, still built and tan but his hair is floppier and messy. She makes a mental note to make him cut it—no one is gunna wanna date a guy with a rag on his head!—but for now, she’s satisfied. He’s even wearing cleaner than usual clothes, which is new but not unwelcome.

“Dad, dad I missed you so much,” she manages, voice wet, “I brought home my essays, you can read them all, I took robotics for three semesters once they would let me, it was so amazing—the _house_ looks amazing—even the, the yard and the—the other buildings..?” She finally realizes, getting her emotions reined in as she half turns in a dizzying circle, staring.

Yeah, lots of other buildings. None of them in front of the house or the barn, all of them back or farther down the slope into the old, old pastures. When her grandfather was still alive it was for cattle and some horses, and when they had no money it was several acres left to overgrow.

Now there’s…garages. A few hangars. A big building closest to the barn, almost right behind it, with a huge cross on the front. Cade follows his daughter’s eyes, pride sparking in his own gaze.

“That’s the medbay. I’m the teams medic, so we put it close to the barn.” Cade explains as it were the most normal thing in the world. “The lab’s to small for more than one bot, so, we put this up.”  

“Oh?” Tessa says, blinking at it all. There were five other buildings behind the medbay. Two were sharing a wall, their doors green and blue. _Oh._ Another was brown, and plain looking, but ammunition boxes and weapons were leaning around it and scattered messily inside. Yet another garage was closed, it’s bright yellow door with the black honeybee painted on it loudly proclaiming who that space belonged to. Another building looked much newer, it was white and huge, and closed off. There was a huge canopy strung far off nearly three acres back off behind the barn, with a cement floor. The earth around it was trodden and bare, as if stomped over continuously.

Tessa shrieks when Grimlock’s nose comes round the back of the barn, apparently having been dozing in the cool shade the building provided. He whuffles and grunts, swivels his head to eye her, then decides she’s not something he has to be concerned about and plops himself back down in his napping spot.

“Honey!” Her father laughs at her, and she play scowls and shoves him. “I told you the dinobots came with us! Well, most of ‘em.”

“Christ, dad, I know but—but they’re huge!” But they all fit, apparently. Her dad mentioned Joyce bought up some more acreage, and while she initially didn’t understand…now she does.

“They don’t venture up here much, though.” Cade shrugs. “Usually they stay to the right of the barn in the side pasture, see? Grimlock’s just clingy.”

“Dad, he’s not a puppy…”

“No, but he eats like one.” Cade grunts, though doesn’t explain beyond that tired remark. He grabs her bags Crosshairs dropped off and motions her. “C’mon, let’s go see your room! I think I got everything back the way you liked it…couldn’t replace some of the furniture, though…”

“Was…was mom’s chair okay? The big…the big wicker one? With the little flowers…?”

“Yeah, it was.” Cade echoes her smile, hers of shy relief and his of pride and amusement.

She knows it’s silly to have worried about a chair, but the news still lights her heart. And with what she learned in Crosshairs, she’s extra eager to go into the house and see all that was old…and new.

* * *

Aside from some new furniture, and the fluffy comforter and the wonderfully refreshing a/c unit…there was nothing else that was _spectacularly_ new. By the time they had finished the house tour, ending in her room on the third floor that was most of the entire third floor, Tessa felt oddly disappointed and yet exhaustedly grateful to see a place to crash and sleep.

“Everything okay? Tess?” Cade calls to her worriedly. “You’ve been quiet, sweetie—did I get the wrong comforter set? I knew I shouldn’t’ve let Joyce’s stupid designer team pick it out—all their taste was prolly in their mouth—“

“Dad it’s…. _Dad!”_ That does make her laugh, and she quickly assures him. “It’s fine. Everything’s perfect. Really! I just...” She hedges her bets mentally and goes with what she knows. “Iiii was just wondering where Viv was? Y’know?” She _knew,_ of course, but that was the point. Cade didn’t know what she knew.

“Viv? Oh, she’s back in England, sweetie. I thought I said that?” He frowns in confusion.

“You did, but, just…wouldn’t you like her here? So you guys are… _closer?”_

Then it dawns on her father’s face and his look softens into something worn but understanding. Damn. He caught her.

“Tessa. Baby girl—you gotta stop worrying about me. I’m fine. I’m…better than fine! We have a life again! I’m not on the run with the autobots!”

“You didn’t have to be before,” she snaps before she can stop herself. At Cade’s bewildered glance, her ire rises. No one was here for him. Had Crosshairs lied to her? Hurt and shame bubble up in her. “You didn’t have to go with them! And throw away those years!”

“Tessa—“ she ignores Cade’s warning tone, mistaking it for him not listening.

“Running from the government! Never talking to me so you wouldn’t get picked up! Do you know how many nights I didn’t sleep, because I thought you got caught? Or worse? No one called me—no one _knew_ to call me, because you’d be dead and I’d be a-alone a-and—“ Trembling, voice and lips and shoulders, Tessa backs up but stops when Cade tugs her into a protective hug.

“Tessa, it’s okay. I’m okay.” He stresses when she makes a noise of fear and pain. He rubs her back and shoulders and tries to ease her all fears, right there in the middle of the room. “I wasn’t alone. And you weren’t either. We had a plan.”

“A plan?” she sniffs, trying to bite back but finding her resolve melting. “You didn’t have—what’s this _we?”_

“Me and the bots.” Cade answers, as if it’s the most obvious explanation in the world. “If something happened to me, Bee was gunna come get you. And he’d look out for you. They all would. Remember what Optimus told them to do when he left?”

“I…I guess….”

“He told them to take care of us; like we did them. And they did, sweetheart. We all take care of each other—that’s what we do.”

“Dad—their Transformers, they’re not—“ She avoids the word like it’s glass and will cut her tongue. Instead of outright saying _‘they’re not our family,’_ she tries another tactic.

“They’re not grandpa and grammy and, and…m-mom.” Because they _aren’t._ It’s not meant to hurt but it is meant to be truthful, to shake Cade up and perhaps get him to realize that as relieved as Tessa is…she’s also a little frightened for him still. 

“No…” Cade agrees in a tired whisper, and Tessa’s heart aches. She shouldn’t have reminded him--

“But I don’t _want_ them to be. They’re still enough. Okay? They’re _more_ than enough.” Her father’s eyes sparkle briefly with something so familiar but she’s too worn down and exhausted to try and argue, or to try and figure out where she knows that expression from.

Tessa just swipes her eyes, more tears spilling anyway. Cade sighs, pulling back and ushering her to lie down and take a nap.

“Why don’t you hit the sack early? You’ve had a long day of travel, sweetie.”

_‘Try a long two years.’_ Tessa thinks to herself, and crawls into bed with her suitcases and things shoved into the corner or set in her mother’s old wicker chair. She abandons them wholly and happily, deciding to be a bit selfish and just. Sleep, and run from her problems a bit longer.

“Okay, dad.”


	8. Night Dreamer II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to keep 93% Stardust on the shorter side, while also keeping it kinda… non continuous. (In terms of chapters. NOT the over arcing plot. That’s gunna stay consistent.) But I am not Oprah, and I cannot have it all. So I split Night Dreamer in half.

_“If to live in this style is to be eccentric, it must be confessed that there is something good in eccentricity.”  ―Jules Verne_

**8\. Night Dreamer II**

Tessa wakes up, moaning into her pillow and opening one crusty eye to find her room totally dark. Music mumbles at her, behind her, and she groans again. She gropes for her alarm clock, the one on her phone set to play music. It’s making an awful racket and it’s…still…in her travel bag.

Her nightstand is empty, void of any personal effects just yet. Tessa rolls over slowly, is bathed in bright blue light that _blinks_ back at her and she yelps.

The music cuts off sharply and turns into apologetic croons and soft buzzes.

“Bumblebee--!” She gasps, scrambling up and catching her breath. “Don’t _do_ that—“ she wheezes over at the lil mech peeking up into her window.

“You scared the crap out of me!”

He thrums again, closing his optics in lazy warmth and flicks to a recorded voice.

_“Sorry, my bad—“_ then starts the music up again, lively optics turning hopeful.

“Yes, your bad!” she scolds, but as her drowsiness fades, it easily drains her irritation too. The most recent memories flood back to her, and her father’s words sting her chest.

Family…

“Come here, you big goof.” Tessa finally gives in, walking out into the balcony her father apparently decided to give her and smiling when Bee blips loudly and moves around the corner of the house. Tessa leans on the pretty white railing, unable to fight a giggle when Bee begins quoting some man’s terribly overdramatic soliloquy of Romeo’s words to Juliet. She knows right away what he means, and the teasing at the balcony only makes her laugh more.

“Doesn’t it remind you of that? Right!? Why did he put a balcony up?” She asks the scout as if he’ll know.

Bee shrugs, then whistles happily and moves closer.

“You want a hug?” she asks over to him, grinning when the bot stretches up carefully and nods. “Alright,”

Who taught Bumblebee about hugs, she wonders. The thought never crossed her mind until now. Transformers were not touchy-feely creatures. Due in part to their human companions usually being so small in comparison. But even among each other, they were distant.

Tessa, of course, remembers right then how long it’s been since she’s seen them anywhere but on tv, and hugs Bee’s helm and throat tighter suddenly. She was grateful to Drift and Crosshairs for fetching her, but Bumblebee was so much more… _personable_. Friendly. Loveable. He must have been too busy to come get her, but maybe next time.

“I missed you too, Bee.” Because isn’t that what he’s saying when he begs her for a hug like this? He’s so cute, and gentle and warm. It melts the girl’s heart and she smooches his helm as well when they both decide to pull back.

Bee, of course, plays an electronic smooching sound back, then a sample clip of a crowd going “awww~!” at her. Her smile widens.

“Ohh Bumblebee~” Someone suddenly sings, in a brutally sharp pitch. It’s a loud voice—a voice belonging to a Transformer—and not one she knows. She jumps, clutching the railing as a sleek shape struts round the farmhouse from the back. It’s not a model she recognizes, and the dark of the night isn’t really helping. But Bee is utterly dwarfed by the lanky being, who is mostly white with tints of red and yellow. Side by side, they look like caricatures, one so short and sturdy built, the other…the complete opposite.

“What are you playing with, my little butterfly?” The Transformer’s equine features come into light and his coy look moves to unmasked surprise and faint disgust when they spy Tessa a few feet below him. His ruby optics sizzle in the night and seem every bit the mirror reverse to Bee’s gentle baby blues. She fights a shiver.

“Oh—another one? My my, don’t we have a little infestation starting~?” The Transformer tsks.

“Wha—infestation? This is my house and my dad’s, you know. We lived here first.” She bristles, earning a surprised look from the creature, whose sleek beauty is apparently only skin deep.

Bee laughs at her response and motions to the other Transformer.

“This is—Starscream.” Bee explains in someone else’s voice. She recognizes Optimus’ voice saying the name ‘Starscream.’

“That’s right, and I’m a seeker. A Decepticon, the Second in command, actually! So watch your glossa, little fleshling. I don’t care if you **are** the commander’s sparkling, you’re all the same to me.” When Starscream smiles, his teeth are pointed and cruel.

Tessa’s frown blossoms deeper and she wrinkles her nose right back at the rude thing.

“There’s no way a Decepticon would be allowed in this property. Not by my dad or—or by Optimus!” She points out triumphantly, then pauses at Bee’s shushes and groans. She watches in growing bewilderment as the shorter mech rounds on the gangly seeker and speaks up at him, scolding and firm.

“She started it—well I was only joking, Bumblebee. Tch, fine, fine. But humans are just ~so touchy.” Starscream inspects his claws but then eyes Tessa up and down. She’s had worse predatory stares from guys at the gas station, so she doesn’t feel unsafe when this jerk does it.

He’s just…so much larger than her. And she doesn’t understand why he’s here.

“In truth? I am not a Decepticon.” Starscream jerks a clawed thumb behind him, pivoting on long heels to show off the faded purple symbol stamped between his impressive wings, half of it missing and even scratched at. The sight of his massive wingspan jogs a neuron in Tessa’s brain, and she understands now why Cade refused to let her on a plane. She could be on fire and she doesn’t think she’d ask this Transformer for help.

“And I... _was_ the Second in command. But we’re…disbanded, I suppose. Or _something_. I don’t fraggin know.” Star’s look turns ugly before he sidles closer to Bumblebee. Tessa startles when she realizes the gesture is entirely possessive and a bit…desperate.

“What I **do** know is Bumblebee is mine and we have a late night race he promised me once he finished his duties for the week. Now are you done monopolizing all my butterfly’s time?”

Tessa gapes, then her look of shock is replaced by delight.

“Oh my god, does he have a crush on you, Bee!?” She eagerly asks the scout, who hides his faceplates in embarrassment and whistle-trills his noise for Exasperation.

“I am right here, you rude little thing!” Starscream cuts in, stomping a stiletto pede in such a petty little manner that her last dregs of fear begin to fade away. He wasn’t a Decepticon, but he was a drama queen!

“Well! I won’t keep you from your ~date, Bumblebee,” she cooes and gushes, happily listening to Star’s tiny squawks of displeasure at begin ignored…yet never once coming near her or laying a claw on her.

_‘Commander’s daughter,’_ he called her. That was cute, even if he was apparently overestimating Cade’s role. It was working in her favor anyway, so why ruin a good thing?

“You two have fun~” She sends the scout—and his bitchy little playdate— off but jumps when she realizes how high the moon is and how thick nightfall has become.

“Oh, wait! Bee!” She calls the little scout back, ignoring Star’s dramatic moans.

“Dad still up?” She pauses, then rolls her eyes, “Of course he is, what am I asking? I—he’s not? What?” She gapes when Bee shakes his helm and points to the barn.

“Ugh—seriously? He’s _sleeping_ in there? Are you kidding—no, no. I’ll get him. See you two later…”

She hangs back a moment to watch both fold into their root modes and vanish. When their lights are tiny twinkles in the distance she shrugs and darts inside. A quick change, a pause to grab her phone, and Tessa is soon striding across the lawn with her phone held out backwards. She lets the flashlight guide her way, because even though she knows the property by heart she does not know the new inhabitants just yet.

Granting her father a moment’s peace for a bit longer, she hesitates between the path to the barn from the house. The house was lit up—either by her father or automatic timers. She’d bet on the former, since Cade wouldn’t be in the mindset to just waste electricity yet. But timers meant he didn’t have to worry about running around hitting switches…

Her mother’s eyes rake across the property, and the moon helps her make out the cluster of buildings in their neat little row. Bee’s door was open now, and she’s rather shocked to see a big shuttle resting in the open white one. So that hangar wasn’t Starscream’s? Must be…Sky-something. Hounds’ was closed, though she can hear snoring if she strains her ears and that makes her smile. Drift’s and Cross’ were open, and empty. She wonders where they were, because there are no cars in the driveway.

Turning to her left, facing the barn but leaning around it gives her the slightly terrifying sight of spiky bodies, all lowered and unmoving. Only one is under the tented area, the rest apparently content to sleep right out under the summer sky. She recognizes the nearest one, as Grimlock’s great big horned head rises and he grumbles to her lazily, but no one else stirs.

Unsure, she waves back. This apparently satisfies the head of the dinobots, who rumbles and droops back down to combine with the loose tangle of black mountains. He apparently had no trouble seeing her in this dark, although she realizes as she strides to the barn door that perhaps he saw only her light.

Whatever the reason, he sure beats the hell out of the guard dog robot her dad tried to build. Grimlock wouldn’t exactly call the police, he’d likely just try to _eat_ whatever dared to encroach on their property without clearance.  

And…come to think of it, she wonders where Optimus is. Even during this hour, she wouldn’t miss a semi his size sitting somewhere.

When she pushes open the door, her phone’s light illuminates scarlet red and royal blue and she squeaks. The barn is dark, devastatingly dark, and she stumbles into the space and gropes for the light switch. Thankfully Cade put it right where it had always been, and a few moments later Tessa stands, blinking with squinting eyes in the yellow buzz of the overheads.

She stares at the semi, sitting incongruously among her dad’s old and new projects. There’s more space for him toward the back wall than there ever used to be. Come to think of it, Tessa has never seen the lab this…empty. And so _organized._ Not even when her mom was alive.

Well…a quick glance at the work benches and desks tells her it’s still messy. But now there was…space. It was tidy but free, cozy but open. Split up.

_‘ This is Optimus’ garage._’ Her brain helpfully fills in, and she can only stare blankly for a good three minutes as she processes such a concept.

“Tessa?” She jumps at the deep tenor, which is kept to a soft volume. “Are you alright?”

“I’m—Optimus, h-hi.” She breathes, trying to settle her nerves. “I was looking for my dad…”

“He is here.” Optimus answers in his pragmatic way. He doesn’t sound tired, which means either he’s a great pretender or she didn’t wake him. Considering he’s Optimus, she’s positive it’s the last one.

Tessa looks around, then tosses a confused and helpless glance back at the semi, who makes a soft humming noise that she realizes is mostly amusement.

“He is in my cab, asleep.” The Prime informs her warmly, and she blinks.

“He really is?” She blurts out rudely, then huffs. “I mean, it’s only eleven, he like, _never_ goes to bed before three.” Let alone eleven.

“No? Well, he has been working very hard the past few weeks. He wanted the house ready for your return.” Optimus says quietly. She thought he said he had a tent in the yard—picking Optimus over that, she could understand. Hell, even putting up a cot in the barn. But the house is built now, so why didn’t Cade…?

“Oh.” Tessa says, feeling a bit dazed. “Okay. And he’s…what time does he get up?” She feels like she’s asking after a child, but she can’t blame herself.

“About sunrise, I suppose. Unless I am in recharge, then he waits.”

“…oh.” And then, because she’s still feeling the same, repeats “Okay.”

“I’m sure he would sleep in the house if you asked him.” Prime suddenly says, trying to be helpful. The considerate words warm her heart and she finds herself wandering closer to the big semi.

“That’s okay. I mean—he’s on the property, I know where he is if I need him. And, and he’s finally got a cell phone now, so....” She feels like she’s intruding on something special, although now that she looks and listens, she can see her father’s bent knee and hear gentle snores and mumbles. Good thing he still slept like the dead.

“He often forgets to use it.” Prime tattles calmly. “However the landline in here still works. I would call that one first.”

“Of course he forgets.” Tessa rolls her eyes, but this is so like her father it’s actually relaxing. So he wasn’t totally new after two years. That was comforting. She hedges closer, unsure where to look when speaking to a semi and settling on the grill and hood.

“You can always call my private line as well, Tessa, I will answer.” Optimus offers, and suddenly she feels less like an intruder and more like—like family. Like _his_ daughter, which is absolutely ridiculous because—

_‘“’Sides, Cade is far from lonely in the compound these days.’_

_“I don’t care if you **are** the commander’s sparkling—“_

_“—They’re still enough, though. Okay? They’re **more** than enough.”_

 

The last memory hits her hard enough that she can recall her father’s expression when she imagines the moment. Unable to stop herself, she glances to the wall where the photos of her mother used to hang. Some are singed, some are crumpled, but they’re still _there_. Lovingly tacked back up, in new frames and hung with expert adoration. The few that Cade are in are the ones she’s looking for.

She stares at the light in the younger man’s face and the lazy contentment of his smile. And there is no mistaking it, not even if she tried.

It is the one she saw this afternoon.

“Oh.” She says again, voice faint and head just as light. “I, well, that’s, he’s certainly…”

Optimus does not come to her aid, and remains stoic as ever. She turns away from the wall of memories, forgetting the rolly chair by the long desk and hits it—it scatters into the desk and topples a few projects, metal clanging and obliterating the warm silence of her father’s—and now Prime’s—safe haven.

“O’t’imus!?” Her father slurs, sitting up too fast and stumbling woozily when he lands several feet from Prime’s now open cab to the floor of his barn. He fumbles for something, pulling out a metallic disc that he holds up and stares blankly at Tessa with. She stares back, frozen and unsure as to what the hell that thing was. He seems to have pulled it from a pocket in his jeans but somehow it’s so big she’s sure she would have seen it…

“Hey, sweetie.” Cade grunts sleepily, and her grin grows shyly. He stashes the large coin away and she doesn’t see it again.

“It’s alright, Cade.” Optimus answers, an impossibly gentle purr of warmth. “Everyone is alright. Tessa is here to see you.”

At the Transformers words, she flushes pink and tries to scold her daddy instead.

But her words feel half-hearted, and everyone from her to Prime seems to sense this.

“Go inside, Cade, and spend some time with your daughter. We will be here if you need us.” Optimus finally cuts in, soft yet so easily able to speak above the two humans who are still arguing. Both Yeagers mumble and grunt but shuffle out into the dark, properly chastised by the leader.

Tessa follows her father up the worn path, turning once to look from his back to the barn and the buildings that lay down the soft slope of their property. The dinobots are asleep, and snoring faintly to prove it. Their very existence is humbling, as if the first Transformers she met weren’t already enough to do the job. As if Optimus Prime himself wasn’t the most amazing of them all. Well—she likes him well enough, but she isn’t sure she’d choose him to be her autobot, like Cade apparently had. Maybe Bee…? Or Drift? No…

Tessa pushes the silly thought from her mind. No Transformer would want to babysit her—become her guardian. So it’s a mote point.

Tessa instead eyes the barn doors, half expecting Optimus to be wandering after her father, like the large hound her granddaddy used to keep. But he has stayed behind; perhaps he is resting, or communicating to the others. She does not know, and soon, finds she does not care. She is tried, and growing increasingly so at all of today’s travel and events.

Because Cade himself looks small and unsure, pausing before the farmhouse before strutting in. His attempt at casualness reads poorly, and she almost chides him for it, and then stops herself. This was her fault, wasn’t it?

Her dad was finally looking alive again, like he did when her mother was alive; and she just took him away from the very one causing it.

Tessa’s heart twists viciously, and her eyes sting. She swipes them away before speaking, knowing that if her father so much as sees a glint of wet eyes he won’t leave her.

“Dad…I’m sorry.” She walks over to the kitchen table—a close enough replica of the one that apparently got damaged—and sits at it. Cade cocks his head but follows her. He keeps going to the coffee maker and she fights a snort.

“For what, honey?”

“For…before. Earlier. What I said. I didn’t…know. You know?” She leans back until her spine presses into the curved wood of the chair, and hides behind a curtain of hair in faint shame. She waits, then bucks up all her courage and speaks,

“Go back outside, dad. Go sleep with—uhm, _in_ —Optimus.” Tessa says.

“Tess—“

“It’s fine! Really!” She realizes how forceful and fake she sounds and busies herself with standing and shooing his useless hands out of the way of the coffee machine. “Don’t drink this crap so late, just go back to sleep. You obviously can’t sleep in here.” She wants to tack on a snide, ‘for whatever reason,’ but finds she can’t. Because in some small way, she’s starting to understand.

“I get it. I mean—I don’t.” That is true. On the one hand, of course he father would break the no dating rule by also somehow subverting around it. He wasn’t dating someone at the PTA or a teacher of hers—thank _god_ —but he also happened to choose the commander of the freaking Autobots instead. He couldn’t do a damn thing easily, could he?

And…Optimus had chosen her dad back, it seemed.

A new thought strikes her, and she buries it deep. Those worries and suspicions aren’t for Cade, but they were for Optimus. She’ll have to question him later, and she won’t be kind about it when she does. Cade is her dad, and the Yeager protective gene runs deep and powerful. If Prime **ever** hurt her dad in anyway…well, he’d wish Attinger had gotten a hold of him!

“…sweetie? I think my milk’s stirred in there good’nough.” Cade’s joking but faint unsure tone jolts her from her dark thoughts. Tessa jumps and looks down.

“Oh!” She pulls the spoon out, then tosses it into the sink and hands over the tea, still swirling helplessly from her forceful mixings.

“It’s _good_ for you, dad.” Tessa lectures when he wrinkles his nose at the amber liquid, still steaming. “Now…go back to the barn—lab, _whatever_ —and get some sleep.”

“I can spend a few nights in here, baby girl, it won’t kill me.” Cade says with tired smile.

“But you’ll miss him.” She says softly, leaning backwards on the counter just in time to see the absolutely wrecked look on Cade’s face at the suggestion.

“See?” As if she needed more proof?

Cade slurps his tea quietly, and glances away from her softening gaze.

“Just…be in here in time for breakfast tomorrow, deal?” Tessa bargains, trying to go for levity which earns her a grateful smirk from her father. Slowly, the two begin to relax around one another again.

“Actually, I eat out on the picnic table most meals. Is that something you’d be okay with doing?” He offers, suddenly shy and hesitant.

“Outside?” Why, she wonders. Then it hits her.

“With the Autobots, right?” She can’t stop herself nor the snort of amusement. Before Cade can take it the wrong way, she smiles and shakes her head. “Nope, I don’t mind. Pancakes?”

“Gram’s recipe.” Cade assures, taping his forehead. “Still got it up here.”

“Write it down someday, so I can make them for you.” Tessa complains airily, like she always does, and Cade laughs. The familiar script soothes the both of them, and Cade’s tea is half gone by the time he rises and walks to dump it in the sink.

“But if you need _anything_ , Tess, anything at all you just—“ Cade starts as if on cue, earning another fond eye roll.

“I’ve got my cell. I’ll call Optimus.” She giggles at Cade’s startled glance and shrugs. “He said I could, anytime I needed him. He totally picks up more than you, right? Mister I-Never-Charge-My-Phone?”

Cade grumbles, his only attempt at denial which of course falls flat when he digs his phone out and sees it’s black and lifeless. Tessa giggles again, and hugs her father good night.

She heads upstairs as he heads back outside. The screen door eeks thoughtfully behind him.

Her room is dark, and she fumbles for the light switch, missing Bee’s friendly—and illuminating—gaze already.

“Starscream, he’s such a trip.” She mutters to herself, deciding to put music on and take a quick shower before bed. “But…I guess if Bee’s happy…”

She’s scrubbing her shoulders when she realizes she isn’t really worrying about Bumblebee and Starscream at all. She’s worrying about two others, and it makes her sigh and close her eyes under the shower spray.

“Mooom…” she drawls outloud, tired and long-suffering. “He couldn’t pick the same species, could he? No…he couldn’t even pick someone cute, like Bee. He picks, like, Optimus freaking Prime, the leader of the Autobots…”

There is no answer, because there never is. She never ever talks to her mom when Cade’s in earshot, never wanting to hurt his feelings or think he wasn’t enough.

But she feels better suddenly, and decides that a personal talk with Optimus Prime is to be scheduled soon. She has already noticed changes in Cade, certainly for the better. Perhaps she and the big bog could work on other things?

And…perhaps she had another potential parental figure in her life on her side? Perhaps Optimus—stern and pragmatic as he was—would be in her corner a little more? Coax Cade to give her some much needed freedom? The thought almost makes her giddy. Perhaps…this could work!

Besides, her dad was happy. Isn’t that what really mattered? She knows, without having to think, that it is all that would have mattered to her mother.


	9. Runaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more good ole Cade/Prime, this time through the optics of another.

_“And I was running far away  
Would I run off the world someday?_   
_Nobody knows, nobody knows…” -AURORA  
_

**9\. Runaway**

She is a seeker, first and foremost. She is swift and agile, and her initial distaste at her scanned alt-mode has grown on her deeply. It is a light model, and good at breakneck turns. She is a fine Hunter. Humans had made the model of jet she uses now. Small, soft little humans with their clever hands. She remembers thinking to herself how remarkable it was, but knew better than to voice her thoughts to her wingmates. She knew especially to never ever voice her opinions to the Winglord.

But her Winglord is gone, now.

She hasn’t seen him in cycles, she hasn’t picked up a signal she recognizes, and the two of her Beloved-Trine are long dead.

She is a seeker. Her name in Vosian is long and lyrical. Her Trine called her _‘Glides-On-Wildest-Winds’,_ due to her skillful flight and penchant for picking the most turbulent winds on which to spread her wings.

Wildwind is miserable.  

Her Fire in her Spark is not out, not _really._ Dimmed perhaps. She’s exhausted. She’s starving. She can go longer than a mech on Empty, because she is a rare femme and they have stamina that rivals even those heavy, clodding grounders. They must, to carry and grow Eggs when the AllSpark graciously allowed them too.

Wildwind is not Carrying right now, could not, not even if she had a mate or if she wanted to. She is too Weak. Her systems have shut off all they can in an effort to carry her longer.

But even she has her limits, and worse, the snare she is caught in has kept her grounded and stuck for _months_ now. So she is very limited, and hurting and growing desperate.

The seeker, an elegant creature of bronze with ruby detailing, thrashes and twists like she does every few hours. Perhaps this time, the snare will break, or she will hear a hopeful straining sound. Nothing. There is no give, the toothed wired bites into her wings and shoulders. She had landed with the intent to play dead, thinking she could fake an injury and then strike her opponent down.

Wire and traps do not think like she does. So, while it was a smart ploy, it was ultimately useless.

Wildwind’s world has unraveled. The Decepticons, her only company now, coming apart chunk by chunk. Their lines were thinning. The seekers had lost track of Lord Megatron after the battle caused by the Great Deceiver. Not even _Screams-Like-Dying-Starlight,_ the Winglord and Second-in-Command, had shown up to lead the Decepticons. That is New. Trust her. She’s seen him try to take command more times than she has gone through her Heat cycles. Their Winglord is power hungry, vicious. He is a good Winglord, she thinks, but right now she wishes he were here to rescue her.

Hell, _any_ Decepticon, for that matter.

No Starscream. No Lord Megatron. Cybertron, which had lowered close to Earth, had sunken back into the darkness of Space. No home. Vos burned long ago.

She blamed humans, and autobots, and of course she blamed Earth. Earth, its barren wasteland of brutal features, only interrupted by oceans so deep her signals took far too long to get back. Oceans—deep water—were foreign things to a seeker, whose optics could not properly account for such depth through the gloss of water. Water is alien to her.

And Earth…Earth is so much water that it’s remarkably horrifying.

The vast blueness of Sky _was_ rather nice, but only when she was up in it. She was not up in it, now. She was stuck. Trapped. The wounds to her pride were almost as bad as the wounds to her outer shell.

After some inspection of the snare that had lashed out at her while she foraged for Energon, the clever seeker has come to a conclusion: The trap is old.

This is both a Good and a Bad thing.

Good because it was old; old meant brittle, easy-to-break, which meant freedom. Even if she scratched her plating, she could still get away and be Free. A seeker will do almost anything for the sky; even forsake Energon if they have to, to get back up in the air.

Bad because it was old; old meant no human-hunters where checking it. It was unlikely someone would come around logically, and try to engage her in a fight.

And she was angry and hungry enough she yearned for a good fight.

But her missiles were spent. Her levels were dipping toward critical. And her right wing throbbed now, as her struggles had made the barbed wire embed itself deeper. A quick diagnostic told her nothing new besides loathing and fear.

But she was brave, and she would carry her lineage into the AllSpark with pride and fury, if it was her time. She would see her Most-Beloved-Trine again, too…perhaps even her sire and carrier, who had died when Vos was ransacked by the treacherous autobots.

Yes…perhaps Termination…perhaps it wasn’t so bad…

As her optics close and she listens to the sound of her vents and engines rasping, she realizes the ground is quivering beneath her, and there is something roaring down in the valley.

Wildwind lifts her helm, falling silent. Even tangled and trapped, she can use her old instincts. She is a good hunter, one of the best, and she will lure someone close to take them down with her. A Decepticon takes down whoever it can. Even without her Masters here, what has she to lose? She has no intel, no Energon to trade for Freedom. Humans would only want her for parts—and the concept makes her shiver, even as she scolds herself. Silly! She is not a winglet, scared in the dark by ghost stories! She is _Glides-On-Wildest-Winds!_ She is a seeker!

The roar of the engine trundles and fades, and her fever-bright optics search the rocky crest rising around her. The trap had flung from a mountainside and dragged her onto it. She is on level ground, but cannot rise to see over the lip edge of the cliff well. Earth’s odd, fluffy green foliage coats the landscape, miles below. And below that is the swollen white moon—so brightly lit, compared to Iacon. Then below that is the glittering ocean-water, black and shimmering and treacherous.

Pretty enough in its Strangeness, Wildwind muses idly. But not the place she would have chosen to Expire.

Even her good arm is trapped, twisted cruelly behind her. She has one limb free to brace on the hard rock, and she strains upward, swallowing the pain as the strong wire slides through her thin wing-metal and draws more Energon. It trickles silently but she cares not. Someone is here. Some climbs, laboriously, below her, out of sight. Against the mountainside.

She crouches low and freezes, ensuring her coding was dimming her signals and her vitals. She would appear as her captors would want to see, dead, or in stasis shock. Yes.

That’s it. Closer…

Her helm is down and resting on its side, her optics dimmed but she is aware.

_Crunch crunch._

Such soft, muted steps. …a human?

_Crunch. ….crunch._

A pebble breaks free and makes a bid for it, skittering down out of hearing-range.

Her free claws, hidden from sight, flex hungrily. This is a human snare, she knows by scent and by placement. No autobot could set the trap so well, not without crushing half the mountain or leaving plenty of traces of itself.

A single human, though?

Wildwind lays there, satisfied her acting is top-notch. Even if it wasn’t, no human can read her vitals. They are deaf, blind and dumb, she knows. And if she lay still and acted like a dead thing, the dumb human would _think_ she were a dead thing.

She hears a whistle, of amazement, and ignores the pride in her Spark. Then a new noise, a strange wet hissing sound that sounds…pained. Odd. Something hops down lightly beside her, right by her worst mangled wing, and she fights ancient instincts to remain ‘dead.’ Her optics brighten, just a hair. Impossible to notice as she scans her surroundings.

A human. A small, scruffy male, his jacket that he must use as armor makes a soft rustle as he moves. His dark boots scruff the ground and provide no stealth. His eyes are wet but bright, and he seems to be taking studious account of all of her.

And then the second before she moves to strike, her Spark nearly give right out in stone cold terror.

For who else is rising above the craig? No one, nothing less than Optimus Prime himself is, _Last-of-the_ - _Primes_ and _Commander-of-All-Autobots_!

He moves like a mountain taking a stroll. He is fluid grace with a regal air that chills her to the core. He stares so very fiercely, optics gleaming like jewels. His own hide bounces off the moonlight, making him a stunning comparison to the terribly brown and boring landscape behind him.

A single human, and the Prime? Had she already Terminated then? Was she to be trapped in the Pit for Ages, living a nightmare? …and such a surreal one? What Wrong had she done to earn _this?_

Wildwind waits, and watches. Instinct still curdled her Spark to do nothing more, risk nothing else. Prime’s were **not** to be battled with. Primes would take down four sets of Trines and still turn on the grounders with a battle roar so terrific it would rattle their frames. And Optimus Prime especially…there was a reason Lord Megatron told them to leave the Prime for him, and only him. And it wasn’t just that strange hatred-desire that broiled off him so mightily. It was _also_ because Lord Megatron needed an air squad left after a battle, and he knew to match a jet to the Prime would be like tying stones to their wings and tossing them over ocean-water.

Optimus is watching her intently, he—no. He is watching the small one like that, rumbling softly as he adjusts himself on a rock below. There is no terseness in his motions, he has no weapons drawn, and he moves almost casually.

But she understands immediately that if she does attack the small one, her end will be swift and without a single second thought. She is not stupid. She knows Love when she sees it.

The great commander is now up on the same level as her. He moves slower than his companion—his pet?—but moves so confidently. Prime strides so close to her that her Fire flickers and she snaps, jerking to life. She goes from Dead-Thing to Very-Much-Alive-Thing and shrieks loudly to scare them both off. It is her best gambit, unfortunately.

The human—small and forgotten—also yelps in a terribly funny way and bolts for the shadow of the autobot, darting against his ankle and vanishing.

Optimus Prime simply gives her a vastly unimpressed look, and does not even twitch.

A second later the little human peeks back out, blinking with wide eyes.

So she hisses louder and presses herself back, the snare allowing her that much. Her wings fan—what few can—and puff out. Her optics are narrowed in Hate and Rage and her sharp denta-bared.

Then there’s noise, _odd_ noises. Humans spoke with their wet little tubes in their necks, she hates the sound. Prime’s optics flicker down to the human, but only once. She can tell by his body language he is listening intently, though. She wonders the human is saying. She hopes it is not for him to kill her. But it might be.  

They are so full of Strangeness and Contradictions, these two. Prime gleams like a Vosian throne-window, which is a bit like Earth’s stained glass but twenty times smoother and brighter. In other words, he is rather immaculate, and naturally very intimidating. There is no submission in Prime’s movements. The small one is very far from such traits. He is dusty and noisy and moves in sharp gestures. He motions to her and waves his hands to her bleeding wing, and the Prime rumbles something back in the human’s language. He shakes his helm. The brazen human bears his teeth in a wide, ugly human-smile and Wildwind wonders why the noble Prime allows such a forward display to be tossed his way. Perhaps he is too polite to rebuff the little thing?

The small one motions again and murmurs up at the Godlike Transformer, giving a hum of approval when Prime removes something from a compartment in two pinched servos. He lets it drop softly into the little male’s waiting arms. The medic symbol is brightly emblazoned on the tiny sack, and it is only now the terrified seeker notices another medic symbol on the human’s shoulder.

And the _Autobot_ symbol on the other shoulder.

She is so stunned into stillness the human-medic gets quite close before her nerves snap her to attention. Wildwind shrieks and lashes out, hating how scared she sounds.

The medic rolls down and under her claws, scrabbling up to hover out of her reach. She clicks in distaste at him and regards the watchful Prime again. Her bindings tighten the more she thrashes her lithe form, and they both know this now. Frag. She realizes the Prime can see through her into her Spark, and the notion chills her. He knew her gesture was purposeful miss, that her clumsiness was a play-act. She was only trying to keep the Medic away.

Now Optimus Prime speaks, and he speaks directly to her.

**_“Safe.”_** He murmurs, his Cybertronian perfect and powerful. The noble idiot is trying to calm her, and she will have none of such nonsense.

**_“Leave!”_** She volleys back, hiss-spitting. _“Fight! Trine! Trine!”_

_“No-Trine.”_ Prime corrects her, and if he sounds saddened for her she ignores it.

Wildwind shrieks viciously, reasserting herself and that yes! Her Trine _was_ here and coming for her! And they would _kill_ him and his little pet human!

_“Alone.”_ Optimus sighs, sounding old as the stars and so tired. _“Regret.”_

Wildwind snorts and turns away, curling up best the terrible trap will allow her.

She spies the human-medic again and glares at him, venom in her stare that Scorponok would be impressed by.

_“Leave.”_ She hisses reflexively at the stupid, soft little fleshbag. She knows he is deaf to the ancient language, she knows he cannot understand it.

**_“No.”_** He says, chest puffing out as he tries to posture like the Prime whose shadow he stands in. Her jaw drops in shock and she forgets herself for an instant. _“You-Hurt, Safe.”_

_“Designation: Cade.”_ The human speaks, sounding rough and ragged. He’s not fluent but he’s understandable. Somewhat.

_“Alliance: Autobot.”_ He says. She scoffs, a similar sound to a human’s phrase of ‘no shit’ but he goes on.

_“Class: Medic.”_ Then, after some hesitation and a short glance at the commander, he says, “ _I-Who-Belong-To-Optimus-Prime.”_

_Wildwind stares in mute horror and confusion._

_She waits, hopes, eagerly and cruelly, for Optimus Prime to make a noise of disagreement or perhaps punish the stupid little bold Medic-Cade. She waits._

_And waits some more._

_“Medic.”_ The human reminds, as if she is a stupid thing, or an airheaded fledgling and she growls in defiance.

**“No.”** Wildwind does not give her name, nor any polite response. There is no politeness in War.

Even if she doubted this War greatly right now…

_“Wing.”_ Medic-Cade cocks his head and drops his shoulder in place of wings he does not have. _“Fix-Wing. You-Fly.”_

She is silent, but her glittering optics track his every move.

_“Fix?”_ He whispers again, then gives what he must think is a purr. Her scowl is ugly but it’s softening despite herself. He…he was so small. And Optimus Prime himself was keeping his distance. Seekers were clever, and she had always prided herself on how clever she was in particular. She had been her Trine leader and loved her Beloved-Wingmates, but they were gone now.

Any clever idea would only be for her, now. The thought sobers and hurts her.

She has nothing to lose. Only her Spark. What was that worth, really?

Medic-Cade approaches and stops, closer now. His odd mane shifts as she vents and exvents above him, leaning down to stare into his wet optics. They are hazel-speckled but intelligent and intense in their own way. Her helm tilts softly, her claws loose and pose loosening as he gazes back quietly. His look softens to awe and admiration, and he is so emotionally open she is a bit beset by how it affects her in turn.

Her Trine used to admire her boldly like this. She used to wax and polish herself and then take to the Skies, glinting like an amber rock set ablaze. She did not like Earth, but she loved how its warm Sun made her armor color look. It was always stunning. She even used to imagine catching the optics of the WingLord, when she was foolish and only just out of youngling-hood. She used to preen and dart until her Trine tangled with her, and then they would plummet to Earth playfully, pretending to be flightless before they rose upward a second later. Seekers did not quite mimic hawks but a great deal of foreplay was done in the skies before they would land to interface. Her Trine had been a good one, healthy and affectionate and loyal. She had settled down with the two jets and been rather proud of their efforts in aiding Lord Megatron.

Wildwind of course wants nothing the Medic can offer her, but if she must take something, then his stare of wonder and humbled gaze would be a trophy she’d snatch greedily and keep for herself, like a shiny thing a courter has brought her.

She wonders—briefly—if Medic-Cade looked at the Prime this way. He must, mustn’t he? She herself can admire the Prime for his warrior skills, even if he is far too judicial with his Might. She dares a coy peek to the great commander, lips pulling into a sly, spider-like smirk. ‘See how he appreciates me, even like this?’ Her flirting gaze speaks. If he mistakes her expression for treachery, he does not respond so. He responds in honest and dull boredom, shifting from pede to pede before speaking to the human in firm, tight tones. A small bolt of jealousy, she thinks to herself.

Now, this wasn’t worth getting trapped in a human-snare but this _was_ juicy gossip she would remember. That is, if she ever found another seeker again to socialize with…

She looks down as the human’s soft face turns red and he fumbles, seeming to come back to himself. Wildwind snickers under her vents, and then falls innocently silent when the Medic-Cade tosses her a piercing glance of reproach. He was so small and harmless. He was almost…cute? Maybe?

_“Fix.”_ She commands, turning her roman nose upward and away like a haughty jungle cat.

Vainer attributions well-fed and no longer needy, Wildwind stays quiet. She is not happy, nor is she demure and obedient. But Medic-Cade _is_ allowed to begin repairs on her.

**_“Now.”_** She warns.

Yet she retracts every single fin and slender wing away from him—

_“Not-Yours. Bad.”_ She hisses, and is surprised when he eyes the cuts but nods at her respectfully.

The Prime had taught him about seekers and their wings, then. Good. She’s not sure how to physically scold something this small without killing it. Hopefully Prime does know, and will correct Medic-Cade if he rudely pushes his luck again, though that seems unlikelier by the minute.

Medic-Cade scurries and moves about like a mad little hopping thing, murmuring endlessly to himself in those wet noises as he traces wounds with small warm hands and clever eyes. She ignores them at first, but soon watches in growing interest.

He makes a great deal of noise, for someone so small. His bright eyes stay on her but he is very obviously engaging the Prime in conversation, making his small hums and grunts and utterances. Medic-Cade makes so much noise she could mistake it for singing—well, very bad singing—like he is constantly trying to court or please the great Commander. Wildwind snorts softly to herself, claws tapping the stone as she contemplates the strange pair.

From Medic-Cade’s hands he suddenly produces a blade. It looks long in his soft servo but is hardly the length of her claws, and she watches as he grabs the thick wire and lifts it up, out of the wound. He strains, and she wants to laugh before suddenly the blade sings and the barbed wire raises back with a _twang!_ of bitterness.

**_“More.”_** She demands, forgetting herself as she rubs the dented leg. The ache of relief feels good, the stinging pressure fading slowly.

She looks down, smelling wet-iron and is surprised to see red juice leaking from the human’s palm. He brushes it on his leg like it does not bother him and digs out cloth and soft little gauntlets. Gloves, she thinks they’re called. Optimus Prime makes a noise, sounding uneasy and unhappy. She watches Medic-Cade wrap the wound he suffered and understands why.  

_“Silly-Little-Medic.”_ She clicks, the noise a scolding nest-carrier would berate a particularly foolish winglet with.

_“Not-Little.”_ Is all Medic-Cade corrects with that same reproach that she finds endearing. As if he could back it up!

Wildwind allows a tiny flicker of optics at Optimus Prime. As a seeker who had a healthy trine, she understand well the concept of Togetherness. Of Safety in numbers. Perhaps Medic-Cade used Optimus Prime as back up, then.

She can’t honestly deny _she_ wouldn’t use a Prime as protection if she had ensnared one like the Medic-Cade must have. He was certainly a striking silhouette like this, watchful and protective. Those were good qualities in a mate, mind you. And he was so…Attentive, to the small creature. The few times the two lock gazes, Medic-Cade beams and softens his tones, and Optimus Prime inclines his helm and blinks slowly, lovingly. Love is not an alien emotion to her, no. She does question the Prime’s tastes, though…

The half-freed seeker turns her attention back to the pestering little medic, watching him carefully. He is perhaps a fast medic, but not an astonishingly skilled one. He is small, and soft and warm, heated without engines and running without a Spark. What makes him so desirable, then? So valuable, that he introduces himself with such a lofty and extravagant nickname? _‘I-Who-Belong-to-Optimus-Prime?’_ Silly, she scolds herself, and lowers her helm to rests on crossed arms. She does not quite-doze, and remains alert enough so that she will not be Bullied or Lied to. She rests, feeling each cutting wire lifted from her aching frame, and listening to the rising and falling cadence of Medic-Cade’s strange human language, and the Prime’s powerful engine rumbling and purring back.

More barbed wire is lifted from her, each feeling so much better than the last. The Medic-Cade hovers over a deep wound, considers it, then goes and digs about his bag, chattering nosily to himself or perhaps to Optimus Prime.

The familiar scent of Energon hits her trackers and she jerks from her deeper-than-she-thought doze, click-clicking excitedly. Energon! He had Energon! Another sniff tells her its synthetic, low grade. She doesn’t care! The milky color of the hard chunks don’t stop her tanks from growling, begging her to get her claws on what was coming from the medic’s little sack.

**_“Give!”_** She whistles, voice hoarse and optics brighter. _“Givegivegive! Me! Energon!”_

_“Youyouyou,”_ Medic-Cade agrees with a chuckle as he hauls the chunks over. They looked like logs of timber in his little arms. _“You-Energon?”_

_“Mine!”_ She snatches it, and begins knawing away.

_“Yours.”_ The medic purrs with a secret smile and lays out all the shards in reach. She eyes him warily, realizing perhaps too late it might be laced. But, no… No, she didn’t taste anything. It wasn’t sharply sweet, a flavor used to hide bitter-poison or stasis-inducing liqueur she’d so often been warned to keep away from by her Winglord or Trinemates. It was absolutely synthetic, yes, made quickly in favor of nutrient-rich, but she cares not. It is still far more than she’d had in what would amount to a human year. She bites and chews and swallows, purring to herself and the small pile of life-giving Energon.

Medic-Cade, she realizes with less and less care, is still repairing her outer shell.

She’s on her fourth chunk too soon, and she’s slowed down. Wildwind pauses mid grab, wondering if she should give a small offering to the Prime. After all, this _was_ his hoard, was it not? Medic or not, she knows this human does not eat Energon.

Then she notices Medic-Cade, his gloves covered in a shiny paste, the same color as her current meal, if a bit darker. More reflective.  

Wildwind clicks in puzzlement at him, and his odd little mannerisms. Whatever the frag is he doing with that stuff? It smells attractive, and she leans reflexively toward him in an elegant twist.

_“Not-to-Eat.”_ Cade warns as he lowers the thick paste of odd scented Energon over her copper colored thigh. It spreads under his touch but now she feels it cooling to the air, freed from its large jar.

Wildwind clicks like a moody winglet but decides for now to listen to him. It smelled remarkably good though, and the cool numbing to her limb was also rather nice. She goes back to her Energon shard, knawing greedily.

The strange paste is not something she recognizes, so perhaps it is a new wound-healer. And she realizes now she was given the edible Energon so that she might not try to lick off this concoction. Interesting.

The seeker shifts suddenly under Medic-Cade, rolling an elbow and knee under her then stretches out, flaring her wings and fins comfortably as she gobbles the last bits of Energon shards down. Oh…none for the Prime.

_“Apology.”_ She pitches the silent mountain, now backlit by the moon as it wanders westward into the ocean-water.

Prime glances at her, humming a polite noise of confusion.

_“Energon-Gone. Hungry. Rude-Me.”_ Having to admit her folly out loud made her body language switch to sheepish, her one free wing folding back like an embarrassed butterfly. She chirps and hums.

_“Accepted. Yours-to-Intake.”_ Optimus purrs back warmly, earning her a glance of surprise. _“Not-Your-Fault.”_

_“Wings.”_ Medic-Cade says again, balanced with remarkable ease on her arm.

She gazes morosely at him, but does not outright hiss or snarl.

_“Wings. You-Fly.”_ The human reminds, pointing to the jar tucked under his arm and the barbed wire he had cut off and tossed away already. The pile is growing and as it grows her body and systems feel better and better. It is still hard work, though, for little Medic-Cade.

_“Fly…”_ she parrots, her full tank and the beauty of the night getting to her.

_“Medic.”_ The small warm thing speaks again, patting his chest where his Spark would be if he had one. She knows the gesture, for it is one a Transformer gives to allies. ‘ _Trust Me.’_ He is saying to her, speaking to her with her own body language.

**“Not-Seeker.”** She reminds icily, then pauses, engines churning softly. _“Quickly.”_ She rolls her torso on a pivot and flares her right wing down toward him, shoulder relaxing.

_“Quickly!”_ Medic-Cade chirps brightly, smiling at her again. _“Fastest-Medic.”_ He brags, chest puffed out as he throws himself back into his work, now focusing intently on the wings and fins he originally ignored.

Wildwind snorts but stares into the horizon, then looks up and count stars as he works.

It is soon the worst wing he saved for last, and she is grateful. The tangle is so bad he has to call his Commander in to help him. She tenses, claws gouging dirt in a flicker of fear when he strides and looms over her. She is still pinned down, mostly by choice but also because if she moved without only one wing being held down, she could lose it fully. And that would be a fate worse than Termination, for a seeker.

_“Safe.”_ Optimus hushes her, then reaches in where Medic-Cade is pointing and squawking and runs his fingers along her Wing. The touch is sensitive and her soft hiss fades and stops. Then, with smooth and firm motions, he fits his palm under the wire, wrenches it and abruptly snaps the wire cleanly in his mighty servo.

Wildwind shakes her wing in a few meager bats, freeing herself quickly while trying to not dislodge Medic-Cade too poorly, lest he tumble and hurt himself. He has no wings or thrusters with which to break his fall, and he reminds her of a winglet only just hatched from his egg.

Although, as seen by the waiting servo, the Prime seemed more than happy to scoop him up into safety at any moment’s notice.

_“Hurry!”_ Wildwind beseeches, anxiety and excitement causing her tone to be desperate. **_“Fly!”_**

Another section rolled away, like ribbon high grade candy, and she feels the thick Energon-paste-cream slathered softly into her wounds. The wonderful icy sensation coats her fragile plating and sinks into her greedy systems. Diagnostics begin focusing on the interior, letting the paste stiffen to a strange hardness that was still gummy. Flexible. Perfect for flying, in fact.

Her wings strain and flex, and her engines roll so loudly Medic-Cade scrambles up her spinal strut and leaps into Prime’s hands because she is moving now with purpose and renewed strength.

The seeker sits up, crouched then straighter, and claws herself forward to the cliff-edge. She balances on three limbs, rocking lazily before sparing a glance behind her.

_“Freedom.”_ She croons to Optimus Prime, then tilts her helm coyly. _“Come with~?”_ she offers in a liquid whistle, eyeing the mountain of a mech and his little companion.

_“Denied._ _Stay.”_ Prime denies, but his rumble is gentle and polite. She thinks she might see a hint of amusement in his ice-blue optics, and she returns it with a flick of her large wings.

_“I-Who-Belong-to-Cade-Yeager.”_ Optimus Prime tells her, earning an amused giggle. So she was right! Well. The two certainly made an interesting pair, she’ll give them that! But she could never play second wingmate to a human, Medic or not!

_“Regret.”_ The seeker says, but nods softly, and he knows she does not truly feel Regret. That she is not insulted or hurt by his reply. She shows it further by singing to him, soft and airy:

_“Safest-Travels-Through-Starlight~”_ she bids him softly. She says the same to Medic-Cade, along with an amused look that makes his soft face flush and her snicker under her vents.

And then Wildwind kicks off and leaps, rocketing upward into the night sky. Earth is nice at night, because you can see Space, and this makes the Sky look even bigger than usual. It is a comforting beauty of rich blackness, and she rolls like the starry night is a silk to wrap her freed wings in. The wind howls like a Predacon, and she likes to imagine it is howling in greeting. She missed her Sky, and her Wings and her Freedom, but she has them back now.

She leaves the snare, and Optimus Prime and his little medic far behind her. It would be wrong to say she is not grateful, but she is not an Autobot. Her loyalties, while they may not lie with Decepticons anymore, most certainly do not lie with Autobots. Her offer at Prime was only a polite offer, nothing more. She did not truly think she could get him of all of them to Defect, though the fantasy is a fun game.

She is free now, though. That is all that matters. And she knows, because she saw it echoed in Optimus Prime’s fierce gaze, that he Understands. For _he_ is Free too, his Spark knowing Safety with that strange Medic-Cade. And she knows he wishes her to be.

She is not an Autobot. But the idea isn’t _Terrible._

_“But now take me home!_   
_Take me home where I belong_   
_I got no other place to go...”_


End file.
